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Our Little Austrian Cousin 















THE 

Little Cousin Series 

(TRADE MARK) 

Each volume illustrated^ with six or more full page plates in 
tint. Cloth, i2mo, with decorative cover 
per volume, 60 cents 

LIST OF TITLES 

By Mary Hazelton Wade, Mary F. 
Nixon-Roulet, Blanche McManus, 
Clara V. Winlow, Florence E. 
Mendel and Others 


Our Little 
Our Little 
Our Little 
Our Little 
Our Little 
Our Little 
Our Little 
Our Little 
Our Little 
Our Little 
Our Little 
Our Little 
Our Little 
Our Little 
Our Little 
Our Little 
Our Little 
Our Little 
Our Little 
Our Little 
Our Little 
Our Little 
Our Little 
Our Little 


African Cousin 
Alaskan Cousin 
Arabian Cousin 
Argentine Cousin 
Armenian Cousin 
Australian Cousin 
Austrian Cousin 
Belgian Cousin 
Bohemian Cousin 
Brazilian Cousin 
Bulgarian Cousin 
Canadian Cousin 
Chinese Cousin 
Cuban Cousin 
Danish Cousin 
Dutch Cousin 
Egyptian Cousin 
English Cousin 
Eskimo Cousin 
French Cousin 
German Cousin 
Grecian Cousin 
Hawaiian Cousin 
Hindu Cousin 


Our Little Hungarian Cousin 
Our Little Indian Cousin 
Our Little Irish Cousin 
Our Little Italian Cousin 
Our Little Japanese Cousin 
Our Little Jewish Cousin 
Our Little Korean Cousin 
Our Little Malayan (Brown) 
Cousin 

Our Little Mexican Cousin 
Our Little Norwegian Cousin 
Our Little Panama Cousin 
Our Little Persian Cousin 
Our Little Philippine Cousin 
Our Little Polish Cousin 
Our Little Porto Rican Cousin 
Our Little Portuguese Cousin 
Our Little Russian Cousin 
Our Little Scotch Cousin 
Our Little Servian Cousin 
Our Little Siamese Cousin 
Our Little Spanish Cousin 
Our Little Swedish Cousin 
Our Little Swiss Cousin 


Our Little Turkish Cousin 


L. C. PAGE & COMPANY 

53 Beacon Street, Boston, Mass. 































































FERDINAND AND LEOPOLD . . . WOULD HELP WITH 

the cattle.” (See page ioo.) 


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OUR LITTLE 


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By 

Florence E. Mendel 

Author of “ Our Little Polish Cousin,” etc. 


COUSIN Hr 

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Illustrated by 

Diantha Horne Marlowe 



Boston 


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Copyright , 1913, 

By L. C. Page & Company 

(incorporated) 


All rights reserved 


First Impression, June, 1913 


THE COLONIAL PRESS 
C. H. SIMONDS & CO., BOSTON, U. S. A. 



©CI.A350331 

$U> / 



TO 

imperial fHaj*aty, 3ffranirtB-3iiB*pl| 

THE SYMPATHETIC FRIEND OF HIS PEOPLE 



PREFACE 


In this volume I have endeavored to give 
my young readers a clearer and a more intimate 
knowledge than is usually possessed of the vast 
territory known as the Austro-Hungarian Em- 
pire, which is a collection of provinces united 
under one ruler, and which is, strange to say, 
the only country of importance in the world that 
has not a distinctive language of its own, since 
the various races — German, Slav, Magyar and 
others — each speak their own tongue. 

The northeastern provinces, Galicia and 
Bukowina, have not been considered in this 
book, owing to the fact that they are included in 
Our Little Polish Cousin; and, for a sim- 
ilar reason, Hungary and Bohemia have been 
omitted, as each is the subject of an earlier 
volume in The Little Cousin Series. The 


VI 


Preface 


book consequently is chiefly devoted to Austria 
proper and Tyrol, but the other provinces, in- 
cluding Dalmatia and Bosnia, are not neglected. 

The publication of OUR LITTLE AUSTRIAN 
Cousin is most timely, since the Balkan War, 
now drawing to a close, has occupied the at- 
tention of the world. The Balkan States lie 
just to the south of the Austrian Empire, and 
Austria has taken a leading part in defining 
the terms of peace which the Great Powers of 
Europe insist shall be granted by the Balkan 
allies to the defeated Turks. 

OUR LITTLE AUSTRIAN COUSIN can well be 
read in connection with Our Little Bul- 
garian Cousin and Our Little Servian 
Cousin, describing two of the principal Balkan 
States, which volumes have just been added to 
The Little Cousin Series. 

Among others, I am especially indebted to 
Fr. H. E. Palmer, for much information con- 
cerning country customs in Upper Austria. 


Contents 


CHAPTER 


PAGE 

I. 

A Visit to Old Vienna 

I 

II. 

Der Stock Im Eisen .... 

2 4 

III. 

The Farm in Upper Austria . 

41 

IV. 

The Peasants’ Dance 

65 

V. 

Some Tyrolese Legends . 

75 

VI. 

More Legends 

86 

VII. 

A Night with the Senner 

100 

VIII. 

Through the Tyrolese Mountains 

109 

IX. 

The Habicht - burg Ravens 

124 

X. 

Through Dalmatia and the Bor- 



der - LANDS 

135 

XI. 

Vienna 

154 

















































List of Illu strations 


♦ 

PAGE 

44 Ferdinand and Leopold . . . would help 

with the cattle ” ( See page 100) Frontispiece 

St. Stephan’s Church 12 

Emperor Franz -Joseph 22 

44 4 Cheer up, my lad,’ said the stranger” 29 

44 It towered high above her head ” . 72 

Statue of Andreas Hofer, near Inns- 
bruck 83 

“ Tramp thus, in vagabond fashion, over 

THE MOUNTAINS!” Ill 

The Rosengarten 121 



Our Little Austrian Cousin 


CHAPTER I 

A VISIT TO OLD VIENNA 

“ Hurrah ! ” shouted Ferdinand, as he burst 
into the living-room, just as his mother was 
having afternoon coffee. 

“ And what makes my son so joyful? ” asked 
Frau Muller, as she looked up at the rosy 
cheeks of her young son. 

“ Hurrah, mother ! Don’t you know? This 
is the end of school.” 

“ So it is,” replied the mother. “ But I had 
other things in my head.” 

“ And, do you know,” the child continued, as 
he drew up to the table where the hot coffee 


2 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

emitted refreshing odors, “ you haven’t told 
me yet where we are to go.” 

“ No, Ferdinand, we’ve wanted to surprise 
you. But help yourself to the cakes,” and the 
mother placed a heaping dish of fancy kuchen 
before the lad. 

Ferdinand did not require a second invita- 
tion; like all normal boys, he was always hun- 
gry; but I doubt very much if he knew what 
real American-boy-hunger was, because the 
Austrian eats more frequently than we, having 
at least live meals a day, three of which are com- 
posed of coffee and delicious cakes, so that one 
seldom has time to become ravenous. 

“ But, mother,” persisted the child, his 
mouth half filled with kuchen, “ I wish I knew. 
Tell me when we start; will you tell me that? ” 

“Yes,” answered his mother, smiling. “To- 
day is Wednesday; Saturday morning we shall 
leave.” 

“ Oh, I just can’t wait! I wish l knew. 


A Visit to Old Vienna 


3 

“ Perhaps father will tell you when he 
comes,” suggested the mother. “ Do you think 
you could possibly wait that long? ” 

“ I don’t believe I can,” answered the lad, 
frankly; “ but I suppose I shall have to.” 

That evening, when Herr Muller returned 
from his shop, Ferdinand plied him with ques- 
tions in an effort to win from him, if possible, 
the long-withheld secret. 

“ Well, son, there’s no use trying to keep you 
in the dark any longer. Where do you guess 
we are going?” 

“ To see Cousin Leopold in Tyrol.” 

“ Well, that’s a very good guess, and not all 
wrong, either; but guess again.” 

“ Oh, I can’t. It must be splendid, if it’s 
better than visiting Cousin Leopold.” 

“Well, it is better,” continued Herr Muller; 
“ for not only are we going to pass a few days 
with your Tyrolese relations, but we are going 
to a farm.” 


4 


Our Little Austrian Cousin 


The boy’s face fell visibly. 

“ To a farm ! ” he exclaimed. “ Why, Uncle 
Hofer has a splendid farm in Tyrol; that won’t 
be very new to me, then.” 

“It won’t!” ejaculated his father, a trifle 
amused. “ You wait and see, my boy. This is 
not to be a tiny farm of a few acres, creeping 
up the mountain on one side and jumping off 
into a ravine on the other. We sha’n’t have to 
tie this farm to boulders to keep it from slip- 
ping away from us.” And Herr Muller 
chuckled. 

“Then it isn’t in the mountains?” 

“No, it isn’t in the mountains; that is, not 
in any mountains that are like the Tyrolese 
mountains. But there will be acres and acres 
of this farm, and you will be miles away 
from any one. You will see corn growing, 
too; you’ve never seen that in Tyrol, my 
son. 

“ No,” answered the child. After a few mo- 


A Visit to Old Vienna 5 

merits’ silence, he added: “Will there be any 
young folks, father?” 

“Don’t let that trouble you, Ferdinand; 
where there’s an Austrian farm there are many 
children.” 

“ Hurrah for the farm, then ! ” shouted Fer- 
dinand, much to the astonishment and amuse- 
ment of his parents, who were unused to such 
impulsive outbursts. But Ferdinand Muller 
was a typical boy, even though he had been 
reared in the heart of the city of Vienna, 
where the apartment houses stand shoulder to 
shoulder, and back to back, with no room for 
play-yards or gardens, even; the outside win- 
dows serving the latter duty, while the school 
building on week-days, and the public parks on 
holidays, serve the former. Austrian children 
are never allowed to play on the street; but, 
as if to make up to their children for the loss 
of play-space, the Austrian parents take them, 
upon every available occasion, to the splendid 


6 Our Little Austrian Cousin 


parks where are provided all sorts of amuse- 
ments and refreshments at a modest sum. 

“ Father,” asked the lad, after a few mo- 
ments’ silence, during which he had sat think- 
ing quietly, “when shall we start?” 

“ Saturday morning, my son. I believe your 
mother has everything in readiness, nicht war, 
meine liebe Frau?” he asked, as he glanced 
over his paper at his wife. 

“ Oh, mother, do say you are ready,” pleaded 
the child, who, for all his twelve years, and his 
finely developed body, was yet a boy, and im- 
pulsive. 

“ Yes, I’m all ready,” she replied. 

And, for the rest of the evening, silence de- 
scended upon the boy, his small brain being 
filled with visions of the coming pleasure. 

When Herr Muller returned to his home the 
following evening, he found a letter, post- 
marked “ Linz,” awaiting him. 

“ Hello,” he said, half aloud, “ here’s word 


A Visit to Old Vienna 7 

from our friend Herr Runkel. Wonder if 
there’s anything happened to upset our plans? ” 

“ Oh, father, please don’t say it,” pleaded 
the boy; “ I shall be so disappointed.” 

“ Well, cheer up,” replied his father, 
“ there’s better news than you thought for. 
We shall leave on Saturday; morning as 
planned; but to-morrow Herr Runkel’s sister 
from the convent will come to us. He asks us 
to take charge of her, as the Sisters find it very 
inconvenient this year to send an escort with 
her; and, as we are coming up in a day or two, 
perhaps we would not mind the extra trouble.” 

“ Oh, father, won’t it be fine ! How old is 
she?” 

“ I believe about your age.” 

Friday morning Frau Muller and Ferdinand 
jumped into a fiaker and drove to the railroad 
station to meet Teresa Runkel. She was a fine- 
looking child, with round, rosy cheeks; quite 
tall, with the fair complexion, sunny hair, and 


8 Our Little Austrian Cousin 


soft, Austrian blue eyes that makes the women 
of that land famed for their beauty. She was 
overjoyed at this unexpected pleasure of spend- 
ing a day or two in the city of Vienna, which 
she had never seen, although she had passed 
through several times on her way to and from 
the convent. She enjoyed the brisk drive to the 
tall apartment house in the Schwanengasse, and 
she fairly bubbled with chatter. 

“ After luncheon, my dear,” observed Frau 
Muller, “ we shall have Herr Muller take you 
about our city; for Vienna is vastly different 
from Linz.” 

Herr Muller joined the party at luncheon at 
eleven o’clock, which was really the breakfast 
hour, because Austrian families take only coffee 
and cakes or rolls in the early morning, eating 
their hearty breakfast toward the middle of the 
day, after which they rest for an hour or two, 
before beginning their afternoon duties. 

At two o’clock the three were ready for the 


A Visit to Old Vienna 9 

walk, for Frau Muller was not to accompany 
them. Joseph, the portier, an important per- 
sonage in Viennese life, nodded “ A-b-e-n-d ” 
to them, as they passed out the front door of 
the building, over which he presided as a sort 
of turnkey. No one may pass in or out without 
encountering the wary eye of Joseph, who must 
answer to the police for thp x inmates of the 
building, as also for the visitors. And this is a 
curious custom, not only in Vienna, but other 
European cities, that immediately upon one’s 
arrival at an hotel, or even a private home, the 
police are notified, unawares to the visitor, of 
his movements and his object in being in the 
city, which reduces chances of crime to a mini- 
mum; burglary being almost unknown, picking 
pockets on the open streets taking its place in 
most part. 

“ Of course you know, children,” said Herr 
Muller, as they passed along the broad Kart- 
nerstrasse, where are the finest shops of Vienna, 


io Our Little Austrian Cousin 

“ you’ve been taught in school the history of 
our city, so I need not tell you that.” 

“ Oh, but please do, father,” said Ferdinand. 
“ Teresa may not know it as well as I do,” — 
he hesitated, for he noticed the hurt look in the 
girl’s eyes, and added — “ although she may 
know a lot more about other things.” 

“ Well,” began the father, “ away back in 
the times before Christ, a body of rough men 
came from the northern part of France and the 
surrounding countries. They were called Celts. 
They were constantly roving ; and so it chanced 
they came to this very spot where we now are, 
and founded a village which they called Vindo- 
bona. But about fourteen years after Christ, 
the Romans worked their way northward; they 
saw the village of the Celts and captured it. 
They built a great wall about it, placed a moat 
outside of these fortifications and settled down 
to retain their conquest. They built a forum, 
which was a public square where all the business 


A Visit to Old Vienna 


ii 


of the city was transacted; and, on one side, 
they placed their camp or praetorium. To-day, 
we call the Roman forum the Hohermarkt, just 
here where we stand now,” continued Herr 
Muller, “ and here, where the Greek banker 
Sina has built this fine palace, stood the Roman 
praetorium; while here, you see the street is 
named for Marcus Aurelius, the Roman em- 
peror who was born in Spain and died in this 
city so many hundreds of years ago.” 

“ I’ve heard that ever so many times, father,” 
said Ferdinand, “ but I never realized it before; 
somehow it seems as if I could almost see the 
Celts driven out and the great wall and moat 
of the Romans.” 

Meanwhile they had walked on, down the 
Bauermarkt and reached the St. Stephanien- 
platz, with St. Stephan’s Church in the mid- 
dle. 

“ There,” said Herr Muller, pointing to the 
beautiful edifice, “ is the oldest monument we 


12 Our Little Austrian Cousin 


have in Vienna, begun in 1144. Duke Hein- 
rich Jasomirgott founded it.” 

“ Oh, he was our first duke,” spoke up 
Teresa, who also wished to prove that she 
knew her Austrian history as well as her 
friend. 

“Yes, Teresa,” answered Herr Muller. 
“ But it’s a long jump from the Romans to 
Duke Heinrich. Several hundred years after 
the expulsion of the Celts from Vindobona, 
Charlemagne, the undaunted conqueror of the 
age, absorbed it into the German Empire; he 
distinguished it from the rest of the German 
Empire by giving it the name of the Eastmark 
or border of the empire (Oesterreich) , hence 
Austria. He placed a lord or margrave over 
it; and when Conrad III of Germany became 
emperor, he appointed Heinrich Jasomirgott 
ruler over the Eastmark, giving him, at the 
same time, the adjoining territory of Bavaria. 
But he had no right to dispose of these Bava- 






A Visit to Old Vienna 


13 


rian lands as he chose, just because he was angry 
with the Bavarians; and when his son, Fred- 
erick Redbeard (Barbarossa) came to the 
throne, he gave it back to the Bavarians. But 
Frederick Redbeard was a politic ruler; he did 
not wish to offend any of his subjects; in order 
to make up to Henry Jasomirgott for the loss of 
Bavaria, he raised him to the rank of duke, 
and thus Oesterreich or the Eastmark became 
a duchy. This was about 1100;. then, being 
such an important personage, Duke Heinrich 
determined to make his home in Vienna. He 
built himself a strong castle, surrounded it with 
a high stone wall and a moat, as was the cus- 
tom at that time, and included within it the con- 
fines of the city, so that he and his people might 
not be molested by neighboring princes. 

“ Here,” continued Herr Muller, as they 
passed to the end of the Platz, “ is the Graben. 
To-day it is our most fashionable shopping dis- 
trict; but in the time of Duke Heinrich it was 


14 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

a moat filled with water; and here, where these 
rows of modern houses stand, were the ancient 
walls which protected the city.” 

“Isn’t it great!” cried Teresa, who, girl 
though she was, could appreciate the ancient 
struggles of her ancestors for liberty and de- 
fence. 

“ Oh, father, there is Der Stock im Eisen ! ” 
said Ferdinand. “Tell Teresa about that, 
please; she doesn’t know.” 

“Der Stock im Eisen?” repeated Teresa. 
“What is it?” 

“ That old tree with the iron hoop around it, 
at the corner of the Graben,” replied her com- 
panion. 

“We will reserve that tale for the evening,” 
answered Herr Muller; “ it is getting toward 
coffee hour, and we want to visit many places 
yet.” 

As he spoke, they walked slowly along the 
Graben, which means Moat in German, and, 


A Visit to Old Vienna 15 

at the end of several minutes, they reached a 
large open square called Platz am Hof. 

“ Here is what remains of the palace of the 
House of Babenberg, which Duke Heinrich 
built,” said Herr Muller; “ and here before it 
you see the Tiefe-graben, or deep moat, which 
amply protected the stronghold from attack. 
And there,” he continued, moving as he spoke 
toward the building, “ stands the Schottenhof.” 

“The Schottenhof?” exclaimed Teresa, as- 
tonished. “ Why is it called a Scottish palace 
in Austria?” 

“ Because it was originally built and occupied 
by some monks from Scotland in the year 1158, 
whom Duke Heinrich had asked to come and 
instruct the citizens, not only in religion, but in 
the educational arts, there being no schools in 
those days; all the teaching was done by the 
Holy Fathers. But later on, the Scottish monks 
were dispossessed by a German order of monks ; 
yet the Hof still bears the name of its founders. 


1 6 Our Little Austrian Cousin 


And even to-day the Church owns all this most 
valuable property, right in the very heart of our 
city, which was given to them so many years 
ago.” 

“ That’s the first time I thought about the 
Hof being Scottish,” admitted Ferdinand, be- 
tween whom and Teresa there was much rivalry 
and jealousy as to the amount of knowledge pos- 
sessed by each ; but the lad was generous 
enough to admit his ignorance, because he did 
not wish to assume too superior airs before his 
guest. 

“ Here runs the tiny lane, the Schotten-gasse, 
which separates the Schottenhof from the 
smaller Molkerhof just across the land; and 
here are the ancient bastions which protected 
them; to-day, you notice, these same names are 
retained; the bastions are no longer required, 
but history preserves their memory in preserv- 
ing their names, the Schotten-bastei and the 
Molker-bastei, now streets of the city of Vienna 


A Visit to Old Vienna 17 

instead of bastions. But we have had quite 
enough of history,” continued Herr Muller, 
“ I am quite certain our little convent friend is 
tired.” 

“ Oh, no indeed,” spoke up Teresa. “ At the 
convent we take long walks every day; and in 
the country at Linz, we do much walking, too; 
it does not tire me at all.” 

“ But walking about city streets is quite dif- 
ferent from country lanes, my girl,” observed 
Herr Muller. 

“ Yes, but we do not have the interesting 
places to visit, nor the tales to hear, in the 
lanes,” wisely answered the child. 

“ Well, then, if you are quite certain you are 
not too tired, we will walk home. We will go 
by the way of the Ring, here behind the Schot- 
tenhof; and we will walk over the old walls, 
which were erected in later years as the original 
city of Duke Heinrich grew. Of course, we 
have no use for these fortifications in these days, 


18 Our Little Austrian Cousin 


so we have changed them into a magnificent 
boulevard.” 

No one, not knowing the original use of the 
Ring, would ever have suspected the mission it 
had fulfilled; so broad and handsome was the 
avenue encircling what is called the Inner-Stadt 
(Inner City), planted with magnificent trees, 
and bubbling over with life, color and gayety. 

Teresa would like to have stopped at every 
fine building and park, but Herr Muller prom- 
ised to ask her brother to allow her a few days 
with them in Vienna before returning to the 
convent in the fall, that she might see all there 
was not time now to show her. For the present 
must suffice a cursory glance at the Burghof or 
imperial residence, the royal theatre, the Hof- 
garten and the Volksgarten, gay with the 
scarlet skirts and gold cloth caps of hundreds 
of nurse-maids watching over their youthful 
cares. 

“ Wouldn’t it be splendid to be an emperor,” 


A Visit to Old Vienna 


l 9 

remarked Teresa to her companion, “ and live 
in such a fine palace? ” 

“ Oh, that isn’t much of a palace,” remarked 
Ferdinand, somewhat contemptuously, “ that’s 
just like a prison to me ; you ought to see Schon- 
brunn, the summer home of the Emperor.” 

“ Oh, I’ve been to Schonbrunn,” returned the 
girl with disdain in her voice. “ The Sisters 
took us all there once ; they showed us the room 
where the Duke of Reichstadt died, and where 
his father, Napoleon, lived when he took 
Vienna.” 

“ Well, I’ll bet you haven’t seen the celebra- 
tion on Maundy Thursday, when the Emperor 
sends his twenty-four gorgeous gala coaches 
with their magnificent horses and mounted es- 
corts in uniform to bring the four and twenty 
poor men and women to his palace, that he 
might humble himself to wash their feet?” 

“ No, I haven’t seen that,” admitted Teresa. 
“Tell me about it. Have you seen it?” 


20 Our Little Austrian Cousin 


“ I’ve heard father tell about it a number of 
times,” continued the lad. “ The Emperor 
sends his wonderful holiday coaches with the 
escorts in gorgeous uniforms; they bring the 
poor men and women to the palace and set a 
splendid banquet before them; then they go to 
the royal chapel and hear Mass, at which the 
Emperor and the royal family, and the entire 
Court are present; after that, the poor folks 
are led to the banquet hall and here they are 
served from silver platters which the Emperor 
and his royal family present to them. After 
that, the Emperor kneels before them and wipes 
their feet with a wet cloth.” 

“He does that himself?” asked Teresa, 
who had listened spellbound, that her be- 
loved emperor should conduct such a cere- 
mony. 

“Indeed he does! And, furthermore,” 
added the boy, with ineffable pride, “ he is the 
only monarch, so father tells me, who preserves 


A Visit to Old Vienna 


21 


the ancient custom. But that isn’t all; the 
Emperor sends these astonished poor people 
home again in the gorgeous coaches; he gives 
them each a purse in which is about fifteen dol- 
lars; he sends a great basket filled with the 
remains of the banquet which they have left un- 
touched, together with a bottle of wine and a 
fine bouquet of flowers; — and, what do you 
think, Teresa? ” 

“ I’m sure I couldn’t guess,” admitted the 
child. 

“ He gives them the silver platters from 
which he served them.” 

“What a splendid emperor!” cried Teresa. 
Then she added, “ I’ve seen the Emperor.” 

“ Oh, that’s nothing,” most ungallantly re- 
plied the boy. “ Franz-Joseph walks about our 
streets like Haroun-al-Raschid used to in the 
Arabian Nights. Any one can see the Emperor; 
he allows even the poorest to come and see him 
in his palace every week; and he talks to them 


22 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

just as if he was a plain, ordinary man and not 
an emperor at all.” 

“ Well, I’ve had him speak to me,” answered 
Teresa. “ At the convent he praised my work.” 

There was a dead silence. Herr Muller 
walked along, not a muscle in his face betraying 
the fact that he had overheard this juvenile con- 
versation, for fear of interrupting a most enter- 
taining dialogue. 

“Has he ever spoken directly to you?” de- 
manded the girl, seeing that Ferdinand did not 
reply. 

“ No.” 

Again a dead silence. 

“ The Emperor needs our love and sym- 
pathy,” said Herr Muller, after waiting in vain 
for the children to renew their talk; “his be- 
loved empress Elizabeth has been taken from 
him by an assassin’s hand; his favorite brother 
Maximilian went to his doom in the City of 
Mexico, the victim of the ambition of a Napo- 



EMPEROR FRANZ - JOSEPH 

















































































































A Visit to Old Vienna 23 

leon; even his heir, the crown-prince is dead; 
and when our beloved king shall be no more, 
the very name of Habsburg will have passed 
away.” 

“ He is a very kind man,” replied Teresa. 
“ He comes often to the convent; and he makes 
us feel that he is not an emperor but one of us.” 

Herr Muller touched his hat in respect. 
“ Long live our beloved emperor, our most 
sympathetic friend,” he said. 

By this time they had gained the entrance of 
their home; Joseph opened the public door to 
admit them to the corridor, and they ascended 
to the third floor to the apartment of Herr 
Muller. 


CHAPTER II 

DER STOCK IM EISEN 

That evening, after a hearty dinner, the 
children called for the story of Der Stock im 
Eisen. And so Herr Muller began : 

“ Many hundreds of years ago, in the old 
square known as the Horsemarket, lived 
Vienna’s most skilful master-locksmith, Herr 
Erhanrd Marbacher. Next door to him, stood 
a baker-shop owned by the Widow Mux. The 
widow and Herr Marbacher were good neigh- 
bors, and were fond of chatting together out- 
side the doors of their homes, as the evening 
came on; Herr Marbacher smoking his long, 
quaintly-painted pipe, and the Widow Mux re- 
lating the sprightly anecdotes of the day. 

“ But, one evening, Herr Marbacher found 

24 


Der Stock im Eisen 25 

the widow in great distress ; as she usually wore 
a merry smile upon her jolly face this change in 
temperament greatly affected the spirits of the 
locksmith, and he demanded the cause of her 
unhappiness. With tears in her eyes, the widow 
confided to her neighbor the dreadful fact that 
her younger son, Martin, a worthless, idle fel- 
low, had refused to do any work about the shop, 
and had even used harsh words. 

“ ‘ Sometimes it happens,’ suggested the 
master-locksmith, ‘ that a lad does not take to 
his forced employment; it may be that Martin 
is not cut out for a baker; let me have a hand 
with him; perhaps he will make a first-rate 
locksmith.’ 

“ ‘ A locksmith ! ’ exclaimed the widow in 
astonishment. ‘ How can he become a lock- 
smith, with its attendant hard work, when he 
will not even run errands for the baker-shop! 
No, Herr Marbacher, you are very kind to sug- 
gest it, and try to help me out of my trouble, 


26 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

but Martin would never consent to become a 
locksmith’s apprentice. He is downright lazy.’ 

“ 1 Well, you might let me have a trial with 
him,’ said the locksmith; ‘ I am loved by all my 
workmen, yet they fear me, too ; they do good 
work under my direction, and I am proud of 
my apprentices. Martin, I am certain, would 
also obey me.’ 

“ ‘ Well, have your way, good neighbor,’ re- 
plied the widow, ‘ I can only hope for the best.’ 

“ Evidently Herr Marbacher knew human 
nature better than the widow, for Martin was 
delighted with the prospect of becoming an 
apprentice-locksmith, with the hope of earning 
the degree of master-locksmith, like Herr Mar- 
bacher, and he worked hard and long to please 
his master. His mother was overjoyed at the 
change in the lad, and Herr Marbacher himself 
was very well pleased. 

“ Now, it chanced that some little time after 
Martin’s apprenticeship, Herr Marbacher 


Der Stock im Eisen 27 

handed him a tin pail and directed him to a 
certain spot on the edge of the forest, without 
the city walls, where he should gather clay with 
which to mould a certain form, for which he 
had had an order. As the commission was a 
particular one, and somewhat out of the or- 
dinary, it required a peculiar sort of clay which 
was only to be found in this particular spot. 

“ With light heart, and whistling a merry 
tune, Martin, swinging his tin pail, set out upon 
his errand. The day was perfect; Spring was 
just beginning; the trees were clothed in their 
fresh greenness, light clouds flitted across a 
marvelously blue sky, the birds twittered noisily 
in the treetops and Martin caught the Spring 
fever; he fairly bounded over the green fields, 
and reached the forest in a wonderfully short 
time. 

“ Having filled his pail, he started home- 
wards. But, instead of keeping to the path by 
which he had come, he crossed through the 


28 Our Little Austrian Cousin 


meadows, his heart as light as ever. Suddenly 
he espied through the trees figures of men or 
boys; then voices came to his ears; he stopped 
and listened. Boy-like, he was unable to resist 
the temptation — the lure of the Spring — so 
he changed his course and made toward the 
bowlers, his old-time cronies, who were engaged 
in their old-time sport. Slower moved his feet, 
— his conscience prompted him in vain — he 
forgot the admonition of his master not to loiter 
on the way, for fear the city gates would be shut 
at the ringing of the curfew; he forgot all 
about the time of day, and that it was now well 
on toward evening. The fever of the Spring 
had gotten into his veins; Martin paused, set 
down his bucket of clay, and, picking up a bowl, 
joined in the sport of his comrades. 

“Suddenly the curfew bell reached his ears; 
he recalled his errand, the warning of his mas- 
ter, and his heart stopped still in fright. He 
dropped the bowl in his hands, grasped his 



“ ‘ CHEER UP, MY LAD,’ SAID THE STRANGER.” 



























































4 
















































































Der Stock im Eisen 29 

bucket of clay, and ran with beating heart 
toward the city gate, but he was too late; the 
gate was closed and the gate-keeper either 
would not or could not hear his call. 

“ Fear now seized Martin, in very truth. 
The woods about the city were infested with 
robbers and dangerous men; there was no way 
in which to protect himself; yet he had nothing 
about him which any one would care to have, 
and that thought gave him some comfort. As 
he was planning how he might get within the 
walls, a tall man dressed in scarlet feathered 
cap and a long black velvet cloak upon his 
shoulders, stood before him. 

“ ‘ Cheer up, my lad,’ said the stranger. 
‘ What is the use of crying? ’ 

“ 4 But I am locked out for the night,’ re- 
plied Martin. 

44 4 That is nothing to fret about,’ answered 
the tall man. ‘ Here is some gold. Take it, it 
will open the gate for you.’ 


30 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

“ ‘ Oh, thank you,’ said Martin, overjoyed. 
Then he hesitated. ‘ But I shall never be able 
to repay you,’ he added. ‘ I have never seen so 
much gold.’ 

“ ‘ Oh, do not fret yourself about repaying 
me,’ answered the stranger. ‘ I have plenty of 
gold, and do not need the little I have given 
you. Still, if you are really anxious to repay 
me, you might give me your soul when you have 
finished with it.’ 

“‘My soul?’ cried the boy aghast. ‘I 
can’t give it to you. One cannot sell his 
soul?’ 

“ ‘ Oh, yes,’ replied the malicious stranger, 
smiling grimly, ‘ many people do sell their 
souls ; but you need not give it me until you are 
dead.’ 

“ ‘ Much good would it do you then,’ replied 
Martin; ‘I cannot see what you would want 
with it after I am dead?’ 

That is the bargain,’ retorted the tall man. 


Der Stock im Eisen 31 

And he made as if to move away and leave 
Martin to his fate. 

“ ‘ Oh, very well,’ said Martin, fearing to 
throw away this chance for deliverance. ‘ I 
will take your gold, and you may have my soul 
when I have finished with it; the bargain is 
made.’ 

“ ‘ And I shall be lenient with you,’ continued 
the stranger. 4 1 will give you a chance to re- 
deem your soul.’ 

“ ‘ You will?’ exclaimed Martin in delight. 
‘ And how ? ’ 

“ 1 Only this, if you forget to attend divine 
service even once, during all the rest of your 
days, then shall I claim my bargain. Now, am 
I not fair? ’ 

“ Martin was very glad to be released, even 
with this proviso, and laughed as he moved 
away, for Martin had been brought up relig- 
iously by a pious mother, and he knew he should 
not forget his Sabbath duty. 


32 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

“ As the stranger had said, the gold gained 
entrance for Martin Mux through the closed 
city gate, and he straightway made his way to 
his room and to bed before his master should 
discover his absence. 

“ Some days later, as the apprentices were 
hard at work in the shop under the scrutinizing 
eye of Herr Marbacher, a tall man in a black 
velvet cloak and a red plumed cap, stood in the 
doorway. Martin recognized his erstwhile 
friend and feared he knew not w T hat. But the 
stranger had come to order an iron hoop with 
padlock so intricate that it could not be un- 
locked. 

“Herr Marbacher hesitated; the order was 
certainly unusual, and even he, the master-lock- 
smith of Vienna, was uncertain whether he could 
accomplish such a commission. But, seeing 
Marbacher’s hesitation, the stranger cast his 
glance about the shop full of young apprentices, 


Der Stock im Eisen 33 

and fixing his regard upon Martin, he said, in 
a loud voice : 

“ ‘ Among all these workmen, is there not one 
who can make the lock? ’ 

“ Whether impelled by fear, or feeling that 
having assisted him once, the devil would assist 
him yet a second time, Martin spoke out, 

“ ‘ I will do it’ 

“ All eyes turned toward the young appren- 
tice. 

“‘You?’ cried Marbacher, and he laughed 
very loud and very long, so excellent did he 
consider the joke. ‘You? You are my very 
youngest apprentice.’ 

“ ‘ Let him try,’ suggested the stranger 
warily, fearing the master would deny Martin 
the privilege. ‘ Who knows what he may be 
able to accomplish?’ 

“ And so it was agreed. 

“ Martin worked all that day until the eve- 
ning shadows compelled him to quit his work. 


34 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

He racked his brain; he thought and thought; 
yet no lock could he imagine which could not 
be unlocked. He carried his paper and pencil 
to his room with him, thinking that in the still- 
ness of the night he might think of some design. 
But, although he worked conscientiously, no 
ideas came to him, and he fell asleep. With 
visions of locks and bolts and bars in his head, 
it was no wonder that Martin dreamed of rob- 
bers’ castles and dungeons and locks and bolts. 
He dreamed about a mighty robber in a for- 
tress-castle ; he was a prisoner there, he, Mar- 
tin; but what his crime he did not know. He 
rushed toward the door to make his escape; it 
was 'locked; he tried to undo it, but in vain; 
then he looked about him, and the room seemed 
filled with padlocks, some small, some large, 
some handsomely wrought, some very simple ; 
but among them he found one that looked like 
a huge spider. It interested him so much that 
he took out his pencil and mechanically repro- 


Der Stock im Eisen 35 

duced it; then he felt himself sinking, sinking, 
down, down. With a start he awoke, he had 
tossed himself out of bed and lay sprawling 
upon the floor of his room. Rather piqued, 
Martin picked himself up and jumped into bed. 
But there upon his pillow lay a drawing. He 
examined it by the feeble rays of the candle, 
which was still burning; it was the design of 
the spider lock he had seen in the robber’s castle 
in his dream. 

“ Impatient for the morning, Martin was at 
his bench early working upon the design of the 
lock; and when the end of the sixth day ar- 
rived, the time appointed by the stranger for 
the delivery of the work, Martin had the lock 
completed. Evidently it proved entirely sat- 
isfactory to the stranger, for he paid Mar- 
bacher the money agreed upon, and left the 
shop. 

“ At the corner of the square he stopped be- 
fore the larch-tree, bound the iron hoop about 


36 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

the tree, locked it, put the key in his pocket and 
disappeared. 

“ Time passed. Martin, for some inexpli- 
cable reason, had left Vienna and gone to the 
city of Nuremburg where he continued in his 
profession. But, one day, he heard that the 
Burgomaster of Vienna had offered the title of 
master-locksmith to the one who would make 
a key which would unlock the iron hoop about 
the larch-tree. It was a small task for Martin 
to make a duplicate of the key he had once 
made, and with it in his pocket he travelled to 
Vienna and presented it to the Burgomaster. 

“ It was a great holiday when the hoop was 
to be unbound. Dressed in robes of state, 
glistening all over with gold thread and medals, 
the Burgomaster and the City Fathers gathered 
in the Horsemarket, where stood the Stock im 
Eisen; the lock was unfastened and Martin 
was created a master-locksmith, much to the 


Der Stock im Eisen 


37 

joy of his mother and to the overwhelming 
pride of his former master, Herr Marbacher. 

“ But, although Martin Mux had now ac- 
quired fortune and fame, he was far from being 
happy. His bargain with the devil haunted 
him; day and night it was with him, for he 
feared Sunday morning might come and he 
would forget to attend Mass. And then he 
would be irretrievably lost. What would 
he not give to be able to recall his bargain. 
He enjoyed no peace of mind; at his bench 
he thought ever of the dreaded day when he 
must pay; he could no longer work; he must 
not think; he joined his old-time idle com- 
panions; hour after hour was spent in gam- 
bling; night after night he frittered his wealth 
away; the more he lost the more desperate he 
became; poor Martin Mux was paying dearly 
for his game of bowls and his disobedience to 
his master. 

“ One Saturday evening Martin joined his 


38 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

comrades quite early, but luck had deserted 
him; he lost and lost. One by one the other 
habitues of the place had gone until there was 
no one left but Martin and his few friends at 
the table with him. He paid no heed to time; 
all he thought of was to regain some of his lost 
money. Suddenly, as had happened some years 
before, out on the bowling green, Martin heard 
the deep tones of a bell. But this was not the 
curfew; it was the church bell calling to Mass. 

“ Martin looked up from his cards and saw 
the sun shining brightly through the curtained 
windows. His heart stood still with fright, for 
his bargain flashed through his mind; he threw 
down the cards and fled into the street, like a 
mad man. 

“ On and on he ran. He brushed past a tall 
man, but heeding him not, Martin rushed on. 

“ ‘ Hurry, my friend,’ called out the stranger, 
whom he had jostled. i Hurry, the church bell 
has rung; the bargain is paid.’ 


Der Stock im Eisen 39 

“ A malicious laugh rang in Martin’s ear. 
He turned and saw the evil-eyed stranger, him 
of the black velvet cloak and red-plumed cap. 

“ Mad with fear, Martin bounded up the 
church steps. He entered the house of worship ; 
but the stranger had said truly it was too late; 
the bargain was due for the service was ending. 
Martin Mux turned to leave the church, but at 
the threshold he fell dead; the stranger had 
claimed his soul. 

“ Since that time it has been the custom for 
every locksmith apprentice, whether he comes 
into Vienna to seek his fortunes, or whether he 
goes out from Vienna to other parts, to drive 
a nail into the stump of the larch-tree and offer 
up a prayer for the peace of Martin Mux’s 
soul. That is why the old tree is so studded 
with nails.” 

“ What a dreadful bargain for Martin to 
make!” said Teresa fearfully. “ How could 
he have given his soul away? ” 


40 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

“ He chose the easier way out of a small 
difficulty, and he paid dearly for it,” replied 
Herr Muller. “ It is not always the easiest 
way which is the wisest, after all.” 


CHAPTER III 


THE FARM IN UPPER AUSTRIA 

The following morning the Muller family 
and Teresa Runkel boarded the boat in the 
Canal which should take them up current to 
Linz. It was most exciting for Ferdinand, who 
had never been on the Danube before, but to 
Teresa it was quite usual, for she always made 
the journey to and from her home by way of 
the river. 

There was a great deal of excitement upon 
the quay — the fish boats had come in with their 
supply for the day, and fishermen were shout- 
ing themselves hoarse in their endeavors to over- 
shout their competitors. 

The children seated themselves in the bow of 

the boat that they might miss nothing of the 

scenery which is so delightful near Vienna, with 
41 


42 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

its green banks, its thick forests and its distant 
mountains. 

“ Do you know what that grim castle is, over 
there on the left?” asked Herr Muller. 

“ Oh, yes,” replied Teresa quickly. “ That 
is the Castle of Griefenstein.” 

“Then you know its history?” asked Herr 
Muller. 

“ Yes, indeed,” answered the child. “ Some- 
times the Sister who takes me home tells me, 
and sometimes father; but doesn’t Ferdinand 
know it? ” 

“ No,” answered the boy. “ I haven’t been 
on the river before.” As if it required some 
explanation for his seeming ignorance. 

“ Then tell it to him, please,” said Teresa, 
“ for it is a splendid tale.” 

“ Long ages ago, this castle belonged to a 
lord who was, like all noblemen of that time, 
very fond of adventure. Whenever the least 
opportunity offered to follow his king, he would 


The Farm in Upper Austria 43 

take up his sword and his shield and his coat-of- 
mail, and hie him off to the wars. 

“ Now, the lord of the castle had a young 
and beautiful wife whose wonderful golden 
locks were a never-ending delight to him. 
Having a great deal of time upon her hands, 
and neighbors being few and far between, the 
lady of the castle passed her time in arranging 
her magnificent hair in all sorts of fashions, 
some very simple, while others were most in- 
tricate and effective. 

“ It chanced that one day, after an absence 
of several months, the lord of the castle re- 
turned. Hastening to his wife’s boudoir, he 
found her before her mirror dressing her hair 
in most bewitching fashion. 

“ After greeting her, he remarked about her 
elaborate head-dress, and laughingly the young 
wife asked her husband how he liked it. 

“ ‘ It is much too handsome,’ he replied, * for 
a young woman whose husband is away to the 


44 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

wars. It is not well for a woman to be so hand- 
some.’ 

“ And without further word, he seized the 
sword which hung at his side, removed it from 
its scabbard, and with one stroke cut off the 
beautiful golden locks of his young wife. But 
no sooner had he done so than he was angry 
with himself, for his display of temper. He 
rushed from the room to cool his anger, when, 
whom did he run into, in the corridor, but the 
castle chaplain. The poor young lord was so 
ashamed of himself for his ungovernable 
temper, that, with even less reason than before, 
he seized the frightened and astonished chap- 
lain by the two shoulders, dragged him down 
the castle steps and threw him into the dun- 
geon. 

“ ‘ Now,’ said he, after bolting the door se- 
curely, ‘ pray, my good man, that the day may 
be hastened when the balustrade of my castle 
steps may become so worn by the hands of 


The Farm in Upper Austria 45 

visitors that it may hold the hair of my wife, 
which I have cut off in my folly.’ 

“ There is nothing so unreasonable as a man 
in anger; I presume had the cook of the castle 
chanced to come in the way of milord’s anger, 
he, too, would have been thrown into the dun- 
geon, and all would have starved, just to ap- 
pease the temper of the impossible lord. For- 
tunately, the cook, or the hostler or any of 
the knights or attendants of the castle did not 
appear, and thus was averted a great calamity. 

“ When the lord had had time to calm down 
a bit, he realized how unjust had been his ac- 
tions. It was impossible to restore his wife’s 
hair, but at least he might release the chaplain. 
A castle without a priest is indeed a sorry 
place; in his haste to descend the steps to the 
dungeon the lord caught his foot; perhaps his 
own sword, which had been the means of his 
folly, tripped him; in any event, he fell down 
the entire flight and was picked up quite dead.” 


46 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

“ It served him quite right,” interrupted 
Ferdinand. 

“ Oh, but that wasn’t the end of the lord, by 
any means,” continued Herr Muller, smiling. 
“ He is doomed to wander about his castle until 
the balustrade has been worn so deep that it 
will hold two heads of hair like those he cut 
from his wife. The penitent lord has roamed 
about the castle for many a year crying out to 
all who pass, 1 Grief den Stein ! Grief den 
Stein! ’ (Grasp the stone). Long ago he real- 
ized how foolish had been his actions, but al- 
though he has heartily repented, yet may he 
never know the rest of his grave until the bal- 
ustrade has been worn hollow.” 

“And does he yet wander there?” asked 
Ferdinand. 

“ So they say; but one cannot see him except 
at night. There are many who claim to have 
heard him calling out, ‘ Grief den Stein,’ but 
although I have been up and down the river 


The Farm in Upper Austria 47 

many times, sometimes in the daytime and 
sometimes at night, I, myself, have never heard 
the ghostly voice.” 

“ I’ve always felt sorrier for the poor lady 
without her beautiful golden hair,” observed 
Teresa, after a moment’s silence, “ and I al- 
ways felt glad to think the lord had to be pun- 
ished for his wickedness; but, somehow, hear- 
ing you tell the story, Herr Muller, I wish his 
punishment might not last much longer. For 
he was truly sorry, wasn’t he?” 

Herr Muller looked quizzically at his wife, 
and they both turned their heads from the 
earnest faces of the children. 

“ Do you find the old legends of the Danube 
interesting, Teresa?” asked Herr Muller, as 
the boat sped along, and the children main- 
tained silence. 

“ Oh, I love all sorts of tales,” the child re- 
plied. “ Father tells us some occasionally, but 
I am home so little of the time now I do not 


48 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

hear as many as I used to. In the summer-days 
we are always so busy at the farm we do not 
have the time for story-telling as we do in the 
winter-days.” 

“ Austria is full of tales about lords and 
ladies, ghosts and towers, but the Danube 
legends are not as well known as those of the 
Rhine. Have you ever heard that story con- 
cerning the Knight of Rauheneck near 
Baaden?” 

“ No, Herr Muller,” replied Teresa. 

“ Well, it isn’t much of a tale when you com- 
pare it with the Habsburg legends and the 
Griefenstein, and Stock im Eisen, but then it 
is worth telling.” 

“ Begin,” commanded the young son, in 
playful mood. 

“Well, near Baaden there stands a formi- 
dable fortress called Rauheneck where lived a 
knight in former years. As he was about to 
go to war, and might return after many years 


The Farm in Upper Austria 49 

and perhaps never, he decided to hide the 
treasures of the castle and place a spell upon 
them so that none might touch them but those 
for whom they were intended. So, in secrecy, 
he mounted to the summit of the great tower of 
the castle and on the battlement he planted a 
cherry stone, saying, as he did so : 

“ ‘ From this stone shall spring forth a tree; 
a mighty cherry-tree; from the trunk of the 
tree shall be fashioned a cradle; and in that 
cradle shall be rocked a young baby, who, in 
later years, shall become a priest. To this 
priest shall my treasure belong. But even he 
may not be able to find the treasure until an- 
other cherry-tree shall have grown upon the 
tower, from a stone dropped by a bird of pas- 
sage. When all these conditions have been 
complied with, then shall the priest find the 
treasure at the foot of my tree, and not until 
then.’ 

“ Then the careful knight, fearing for the 


50 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

safety of his treasure, even after such precau- 
tions, called upon a ghost to come and watch 
over the castle tower, that peradventure, daring 
robbers who might presume to thrust aside the 
spells which bound the treasure, would fear to 
cope with a ghost.” 

“And did the priest ever come?” queried 
Teresa. 

“Not yet, child; the cherry-tree at the top 
of the tower is but yet a sapling ; there are long 
years yet to wait.” 

“ But we don’t believe in ghosts, father,” 
interrupted Ferdinand. “ Why could not 
some one go and dig at the root of the 
tree and see if the treasure were really 
there?” 

“ One could if he chose, no doubt,” answered 
Herr Muller, “ but no one has.” 

“Would you, Ferdinand?” asked Teresa. 

“ Oh, I might, if I were a grown man and 


had a lot of soldiers with me.” 


The Farm in Upper Austria 51 

“ Do you know another legend, Herr 
Muller?” asked Teresa, shortly. 

“Well, there is the legend of Endersdorf in 
Moravia. 

“ A shepherd once lived in the neighborhood, 
and although he had always been exceedingly 
poor, often almost to the verge of starvation, 
yet, one morning, his neighbors found that he 
had suddenly become exceedingly rich. Every 
one made conjectures concerning the source of 
his wealth, but none of them became the con- 
fidante of the shepherd, so that none were ever 
the wiser. The erstwhile poor shepherd left 
his humble cot and built himself a magnificent 
estate and palace upon the spot; he surrounded 
himself with retainers and sportsmen and gave 
himself up quite naturally to a life of ease and 
indolence. Most of his time was spent in fol- 
lowing the hounds; but with all his newly-ac- 
quired wealth, and notwithstanding the memory 
of days when a few pence meant a fortune to 


52 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

him, the shepherd lost all sense of pity, and 
none about the country-side were quite so penu- 
rious and selfish as he. To such poor wayfarers 
as accosted him, in mercy’s name, to befriend 
them, he turned a deaf ear, until his name was 
the synonym for all that was miserable and 
hard-hearted. 

“ Now, it happened, that one day a poor beg- 
gar came to the gate of the rich shepherd, ask- 
ing for alms. The shepherd was about to leave 
the gate in company with a noisy crowd of 
hunters and followers, on his way to the chase. 
Taking no pity on the poor man’s condition, he 
suddenly conceived the idea of making the beg- 
gar his prey. 

“ ‘ Here is sport for us, good men,’ he cried. 
1 Let us drive the beggar before us with our 
whips, and see him scamper lively.’ 

“ Whereupon, following the action of their 
host, the entire company raised their whips, set 
spurs to their horses, and drove the trem- 


The Farm in Upper Austria 53 

bling, frightened, outraged man from before 
them. 

“ 4 Now has your hour come,’ cried out the 
old man, as he turned and defied his assailants. 
‘ May all the curses of Heaven fall upon your 
heads, ye hard-hearted lot of roysterers ! ’ 

“ At the word, the sky, which had before 
been cloudless, grew suddenly black; the light- 
ning flashed; the thunder rolled; the very 
ground under their feet, shook, cracked and 
opened, swallowing the shepherd, his followers, 
their horses, dogs, and every vestige of the es- 
tate vanished. In its place arose a lake 
whose dark waters tossed and moaned in 
strange fashion. 

“ On stormy days, even to this present day, 
when the waters of the lake are lashing them- 
selves in fury, the shepherd of the hard heart 
can be seen passing across the waves, his whip 
raised to strike some unseen object, a black 
hunting dog behind him. How long his pun- 


54 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

ishment may last, no one knows, but he can al- 
ways be seen just as he was when the earth- 
quake swallowed him up.” 

“ Isn’t it strange,” observed Teresa, “ but 
every one of the tales end in the punishment of 
the wicked knight.” 

“ Of course,” remarked Ferdinand. “ They 
wouldn’t be tales at all if the wrong-doer was 
allowed to go free. Would they, father?” 

“ Indeed not; but now it’s time for break- 
fast. Would you like to eat on deck? It is 
so perfect a day, it is a pity to go in- 
doors.” 

This suggestion appealed wonderfully to the 
children, and Herr Muller left them to order 
the meal served upon the deck. 

As night fell, the boat docked at Linz. Herr 
Runkel was waiting on the quay with a heavy 
wagon and a team of horses to drive them to 
the farm. It was a beautiful drive in the bright 
moonlight, and the lights of Linz twinkled be- 


The Farm in Upper Austria 55 

low them, while the Danube sparkled in the 
distance, just like a fairy world. 

It was very late when they reached the farm- 
house; Frau Runkel greeted them cordially, 
and immediately after helping them off with 
their wraps, poured out steaming hot coffee to 
warm them up, the night air having been a 
trifle chilly. 

Ferdinand went directly to his room after 
coffee was served. It was on the opposite side 
of the house, on the ground floor; the farm- 
house was but one story high, with a lofty attic 
above. In one corner of the large bedroom 
stood a canopied bed of dark wood, elaborately 
painted in bright colors, on head and foot board, 
with designs of flowers and birds. There were 
two small, stiff-backed wooden chairs, a night- 
table, upon which stood a brass candlestick, and 
an enormous wardrobe or chest for his clothes. 
All the furnishings of the room, even to the 
rug by the bed, were the handiwork of the oc- 


56 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

cupants of the farm-house, for no true Austrian 
peasant would condescend to purchase these 
household necessities from a shop. Between 
two voluminous feather beds Ferdinand slept 
soundly, nor did he stir until he heard voices 
in the garden. Hastily dressing, he made 
his way into the living-room, where break- 
fast had already been partaken of by the 
others. 

“ I’m so sorry to be late,” he apologized, 
shamefacedly. “ Why didn’t you call me, 
mother?” he asked, as he turned to the one 
who must naturally share the responsibility of 
her children’s shortcomings. 

“We thought to let you have your rest,” 
answered Frau Muller. “ Your day will be 
very full. You evidently enjoyed your downy 
bed.’" 

“Oh, it was great; let us get one, mother.” 

“ I used to sleep under one when I was a 
girl,” replied Frau Muller, “ but no one in the 


The Farm in Upper Austria 57 

city uses them any more; the woolly blankets 
have quite superceded them.” 

“ You may take yours home with you, if you 
like,” said Frau Runkel, “ we have geese 
enough to make more.” 

“ Now,” said Herr Runkel, “ if you are all 
ready, we’ll go over and pay our respects to 
father and mother.” 

“ Then your parents do not live with you? ” 
asked Herr Muller, a little astonished. 

“ No, that is not the custom among us. You 
see, when I got married, father made over the 
farm and all its appurtenances to me, being the 
eldest son; then he built himself another home, 
just over in the field, there,” and Herr Runkel 
pointed to a tiny, cosy cottage some few hun- 
dred paces away. 

“ What a splendid thing to be the eldest son,” 
remarked Herr Muller. 

“ Perhaps it is,” replied his host, “ but it en- 
tails a great responsibility, as well. You see, 


58 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

after the ceremony of deeding the farm away to 
me, I am called upon to settle an allowance 
upon my parents during their lifetime.” 

“ That’s but right,” assented Herr Muller, 
“ seeing that they have given you everything 
they possess, and which they have acquired with 
such toil and privation.” 

“ Yes, but father received the farm from his 
father, in just the same manner; although he 
has enlarged it, so that it is bigger and better. 
But, in addition to father and mother,” contin- 
ued the farmer, “ I have all my brothers and 
sisters to look after. There is Teresa at the 
convent in Vienna; there is Frederick at the 
Gymnasium in Linz; and there is Max an ap- 
prentice in Zara; these must all be cared for; 
and, I can tell you, Muller, it’s a responsible 
position, that of being the eldest son.” 

“ But you weren’t called upon, Franz,” re- 
plied his friend, “ to provide so bountifully for 
each.” 


The Farm in Upper Austria 59 

“ No, but what would you have? ” he replied. 
“ I have tried to be a dutiful son; and,” he 
added, his eyes twinkling as he glanced at his 
wife, “ I’ve been sort of lenient towards father 
and the children, because father let me off so 
lightly when he boxed my ears for the last 
time.” 

“ Boxed your ears? ” exclaimed Herr Muller, 
in astonishment. “ What had you done to de- 
serve such disgrace?” 

“ Well, that was part of the ceremony. 
When the farm was made over to me, it’s the 
custom, before signing the deed, for the owner 
to make the rounds of his estate with his family; 
when he comes to each of the four corner-posts, 
he boxes the ears of the new owner. Now, 
father might have boxed mine roundly, had he 
chosen, for I was somewhat of a rollicker in my 
youth,” and the genial farmer chuckled softly, 
“ but father was sparing of my feelings. Don’t 
you believe he deserved a recompense?” 


6o Our Little Austrian Cousin 


“ He certainly did,” answered his friend, and 
they all laughed heartily over the matter. 

Meanwhile they had gained the entrance 
to the dower-house, as the home of the aged 
couple was called. As Herr Muller had not 
seen the parents of his friend since childhood 
there were many years of acquaintanceship to 
bridge over; and Ferdinand, fascinated, lis- 
tened to the conversation, for this old couple 
were most interesting persons to talk with. 

After returning from church the family 
gathered on the wide verandah under the eaves, 
the women with their knitting, which is not 
considered improper even on Sundays among 
Austrian women. 

This verandah in the peasant home in Upper 
Austria is a most important part of the house. 
It is protected from the elements by the enor- 
mous overhanging eaves above, running the 
entire side of the house; heavy timbers sup- 
port it, green with growing vines which climb 


The Farm in Upper Austria 61 

from the porch boxes filled with gayly blossom- 
ing flowers. It is a tiny garden brought to 
one’s sitting-room; the birds twitter in the sun- 
light, as they fly in and out of their nests under 
the eaves; and here the neighbors gossip and 
drink coffee and munch delicious cakes. In 
fact, it is the sole sitting-room of the family 
during warm days, for no peasant woman 
would think of shutting herself in a room to 
do her work. One can always work to better 
advantage in the sunlight and open air. 

The children rambled about the farm and 
outbuildings. The farm-house was very long 
and deep and low, with a long, slanting roof. 
The front door was of heavy timbers upon 
which was a design of St. Martin outlined in 
nails, the work of the farmer, while small 
crosses at either side of the door were con- 
sidered sufficient protection from the evil 
spirits who might wish to attack the family 
within. 


62 Our Little Austrian Cousin 


The interior of the farm-house was very 
simple; a large vestibule called the Laube or 
bower served as a means of communication be- 
tween the different parts of the house; the 
sleeping-rooms were ranged on one side, while 
the dining and living-room occupied the other, 
with the kitchen just beyond. 

The Gesindestube, or living-room, was very 
plain, with its bare floors and darkened walls; 
a tile stove in one corner, benches about the 
walls and chests, some plain, some elaborately 
decorated and carved, occupied whatever space 
was left. Here were kept the household linens 
and the wardrobes for the family, as no Aus- 
trian peasant home is built with closets as we 
have in America. 

That evening, Herr Runkel said to Fer- 
dinand : 

“ To-morrow, my boy, we work. Would you 
like to help? ” 

“ Oh, it would be jolly,” replied the lad. 


The Farm in Upper Austria 63 

After a moment’s hesitation, he added: “ What 
kind of work? Hoeing potatoes or weeding 
the garden?” 

These two tasks were the only ones the lad 
was familiar with upon his uncle’s farm in 
Tyrol. 

The farmer laughed. “ No, we won’t do 
that,” he said. “ We’ll leave that to the serv- 
ants; but we’ll make shoes.” 

“ Make shoes ! ” exclaimed the child, in- 
credulously. “ Really make them yourself? 
I’ve never made shoes,” he added, doubting 
whether he might be allowed now to assist. 

“Why not?” answered Herr Runkel. 
“You know we are very old-fashioned here; 
and, as we have so far to go to the shops, why 
we don’t go; we let the workmen come to us. 
This is an off-time of the season; so we have 
the tailors and the shoemakers and all sorts of 
folk come and help us with such things as we 
can’t do ourselves, for, you know, we make 


64 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

everything we use on the farm, and everything 
we wear.” 

“ Oh, how fine,” said Ferdinand. 

“ Yes, and we have jolly times, too,” con- 
tinued the farmer, “ for when work is over 
we play. Isn’t that right? ” 

Ferdinand went to bed that night with visions 
of tailors and shoemakers and harnessmakers 
and whatnot, in his head, until he fell asleep. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE PEASANTS’ DANCE 

Ferdinand needed no call to arouse him in 
the morning. He was awake and up long be- 
fore any of his family, but he did not catch 
Herr Runkel nor his buxom wife, napping. 

“ Come along, Ferdinand, and help me get 
the leather ready for the men,” said the farmer, 
and he led the way across the garden to a great 
timber building, two stories in height. He 
opened the door, and they entered a very large 
room, with a decided smoky smell about it. 

“What is this?” asked Ferdinand. 

“This is our Feld-kasten (field-box) where 

we keep all our supplies. Here are the seeds 

for planting when the time comes; here are 

the hams and bacons and dried meat for use 

during the winter; here is the lard for the 
65 


66 Our Little Austrian Cousin 


year; ” and Herr Runkel took off the lids of the 
great casks and showed the white lard to the 
child, astonished beyond expression, at this col- 
lection of supplies. 

“And what’s in the loft?” asked the boy, 
seeing the substantial ladder leading thereto. 

“ Oh, that’s for the women-folks,” he re- 
plied. “We keep all sorts of things there. 
Let’s go up.” 

And they ascended. 

The loft was a room full of shelves; in most 
delightful order were ranged bundles of white 
cotton cloth, bundles of flax for spinning, 
bundles of woolen goods for making up into 
apparel, some dyed and some in the natural 
wool; there were rows and rows of yarn for 
embroidering the garments of the peasants, and 
upon the floor in one corner was a great heap 
of leather, with all sorts of machinery, and har- 
ness, and Ferdinand never could learn what 
there was not here, so overwhelmed was he. 


The Peasants’ Dance 67 

“ Here we are,” said Herr Runkel, as he 
tugged at the pile of leather. “ We must get 
this out, for the shoemakers start after break- 
fast. Give us a lift, child,” and he half 
dragged, half lifted the leather to the trap-door 
and let it slide down the ladder. 

For days afterwards Ferdinand was in a fever 
of excitement. First he would help cut out the 
leather for the heavy farm shoes, working the 
best he could with his inexperience; the main 
thing being to keep busy, and he certainly ac- 
complished it. Then he helped the tailors, for 
every one who could be spared about the farm 
joined in the tasks of the journeymen, that they 
might finish their work and move on to another 
farm, before the busy season should begin for 
the farmers. 

It is customary in addition to the low wages 
of about twelve cents a day for servants to 
receive their clothing, as part payment, so that 
upon a large farm, of the extent of Herr 


68 Our Little Austrian Cousin 


Runkel’s, there were many to be provided for. 
Frau Muller assisted Frau Runkel in the 
kitchen, where Teresa, too, was kept busy; 
even Ferdinand not disdaining to make himself 
useful in that department. 

At length the journeymen were finished, and 
Herr Muller spoke about leaving in a few days 
for Tyrol. 

“ We shall have a merrymaking, then, be- 
fore you go,” said his host. “ But I presume 
parties are not a novelty to you; are they, 
Ferdinand? City folks, especially Viennese, 
are very gay.” 

“ Oh, we never have parties in Vienna,” re- 
plied the lad. “That is, private parties; they 
cost too much. But we have our masked balls 
and ice festivals. Of course I can’t go to those; 
they are only for grown folks.” 

Herr Muller took up the thread of conversa- 
tion at this point. “ Vienna, with all its glitter, 
is but a poor city, after all,” he said. “ Living 


The Peasants’ Dance 69 

is very costly; the rich and the aristocracy have 
impoverished themselves by their extravagant 
ways of living. They dwell in fine homes, wear 
gorgeous uniforms and gowns, but cannot pay 
for these extravagances. They have shooting- 
lodges in the mountains, country villas for the 
summer, besides their town homes, but they 
have the fear constantly over their heads that 
these will be taken from them, to redeem the 
mortgages upon them.” 

“ I am more than ever thankful,” replied the 
farmer, “ that I have my farm and my family, 
and owe no man.” 

“ You are certainly right,” answered his 
friend. “It is to such men as you that Austria 
must look in the future.” 

“ But about the party, Herr Runkel,” inter- 
rupted Ferdinand, who feared that his host 
might forget his suggestion. 

“ Oh, yes. Well, we’ll have that Saturday 
night; so run along and help the women-folks 


70 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

get ready for it, for you never saw such feasts 
as we do have at our parties, child.” 

Ferdinand, being just a boy, rushed off to the 
kitchen to provide for the “ spread ” that was 
to come, and he and Teresa chattered like two 
magpies over the splendid prospect. 

Although Ferdinand Muller did not quite be- 
lieve that Saturday afternoon would ever come, 
it eventually did come; and a perfect day, too. 
Teresa was dressed in her most shining silver 
buckles and her whitest of homespun stockings, 
while Frau Runkel outshone every one in the 
room with her gayly embroidered apron over 
her dark skirt, and her overwhelming display of 
hand-made silver ornaments in her ears, upon 
her arms, about her neck, and on her fingers. 
And her headdress was a marvel to behold, 
glistening with gold thread and shining with 
tiny beads of various colors. 

The table was set in the Gesindestube ; there 
were roast ducks, and geese and chickens, roast 


The Peasants’ Dance 71 

meats and stewed meats, and Wienerschnitzel 
(veal cutlet), without which no Austrian home 
is complete. There were sausage and cheese and 
black bread and noodles; there were cakes with 
white frosting and pink frosting, and some 
were decorated with tiny colored seeds like 
caraway-seeds. Never had Ferdinand beheld 
such a sight before; but truly the Austrian, 
peasant knows how to enjoy life. 

The reception over, the host and hostess led 
the way to the dining-table, the men placing 
themselves on the bench on one side while the 
women sat opposite them on the other. With 
bowed heads, the host said the grace; then be- 
gan the gayety. There was no constraint; each 
helped himself and his neighbor bountifully. 
Meanwhile, the two young children, at the foot 
of the board, were not neglected, but kept up 
a lively conversation of their own, utterly oblivi- 
ous of their elders. 

“ Wait until the dessert comes,” said Teresa. 


72 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

“ Did you ever see one of these nettle- 
cakes? ” 

“Nettle-cakes?” repeated the lad. “What 
is that? ’ 

“ Oh, you will see,” replied the young lady, 
looking wise. “ But be careful, I warn you, not 
to prick your fingers. Perhaps, though,” she 
added, “ mother may not allow us to join in, 
for this is a special feast-day, in honor of you 
and your parents.” 

Ferdinand was not kept long in suspense. 
The viands having been disposed of to the sat- 
isfaction of every one, the maid brought in the 
“ piece de resistance.” It towered high above 
her head, and had she not been brought up in 
the open air of the country she certainly never 
would have had the strength to manage such a 
burden. Upon a huge wooden dish was piled 
high fresh fruits from the orchard, cakes with 
delicious frosting, nuts and bright flowers. It 
was a medley of color, set off by great streamers 



IT TOWERED HIGH ABOVE HER HEAD.” 



' 































■ 



































] 




















The Peasants’ Dance 73 

of gay ribbons and bows; quite like a bridal 
cake, but vastly more interesting. 

Tongues wagged fast, you may be sure; all 
wished to get a chance at the gorgeous centre- 
piece, nevertheless, they all waited for their 
host’s approval, and, waiting his opportunity, 
when many were not on the alert, he raised his 
hand, and then such a scramble you never saw 
in all your days. The men rose out of their 
seats and grabbed for one particular sweet- 
meat, which might appeal to the palate of his 
fair partner; but for all their precautions, 
knowing the hidden secrets of the dessert, many 
emerged from the battle with scratched hands 
or bleeding fingers, for these delicious cakes 
and luscious fruits covered prickly nettles, a 
trap for the unskilful. 

But what mattered these trifles to the happy- 
hearted peasant folk. They chatted and 
laughed and dived for fruit and decked the hair 
of their favorites with gay flowers, or cracked 


74 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

nuts with their knife handles and fed them to 
their lady loves. With the coffee, the feast 
ended. 

Carrying the benches to the sides of the 
room, where they ordinarily reposed, the table 
was cleared as if by magic. Now the dance 
was on. Zithers and violins appeared, and the 
darkened rafters of the Gesindestube rang with 
the clatter of many feet. 

By ten o’clock all was quiet at the farm- 
house; the guests had complimented their host 
and hostess upon the success of the evening, 
and the elaborateness of the table; they bade 
farewell to the Muller family, and saying good 
night to all, made their way over the fields, 
singing with hearty voices, their tuneful folk- 
songs;, and thus Ferdinand heard the last of 
them ere he fell asleep. 


CHAPTER V 

SOME TYROLESE LEGENDS 

The following morning Herr and Frau 
Muller and Ferdinand bade their kind host and 
hostess good-by and they set out for Linz, 
where they would take the train to Innsbruck, 
the capital of Upper Tyrol. Ferdinand was 
very loth to leave the farm, he had had such a 
splendid time there, and felt that he had not 
seen half of the farm-life; but Herr Runkel 
promised that he should come again the fol- 
lowing summer and spend the entire vacation 
with them, to which his parents consented, so 
the child was content. However, he was to 
visit his cousin Leopold, and that was always a 
treat, for Tyrol is so charming and so different 

from other spots in Austria, it would be a dif- 
75 


76 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

ficult child, indeed, to please, who would not be 
content with a trip to Tyrol. 

Herr Hofer and his son Leopold met them 
at the station in Innsbruck, with a heavy wagon 
and two strong horses; the Hofers lived in 
Volders in the Unter-Innthal or valley of the 
Lower Inn River, some distance in the moun- 
tains; all the country to the north of the Inn 
being designated as the Upper and that to the 
south, as the Lower valley. 

“Have you had your luncheon?” asked 
Herr Hofer, as soon as the greetings were over. 

“ Oh, yes, we lunched on board the train,” 
replied Herr Muller. 

“ Then, let’s get off,” said Herr Hofer, “ for 
we have a long drive before us.” He pulled his 
horses’ reins and the beasts started off at a good 
pace. 

Leaving the station, they turned down the 
Margareth-platz with its fountain of dragons 
and griffins, where young women were filling 


Some Tyrolese Legends 77 

their pitchers, for Innsbruck is very primitive in 
many of its customs. Down the broad and 
splendid Maria-Theresa Strasse the carriage 
turned, and stopped before a most gorgeous 
palace, whose roof shone in the bright sun- 
shine like molten metal. 

“ Oh, uncle, who can live in such a beautiful 
house?” asked Ferdinand. 

“ That is the Goldne Dachl, or the House 
with the Golden Roof,” replied his uncle. “ It 
was built ever so many years ago by our be- 
loved Count Frederick of Tyrol. You’ve heard 
of him? ” he queried. 

“ Oh, yes,” replied the lad. “ But I don’t 
know about this house of his.” 

“ Well, Count Frederick was a most gener- 
ous man; he would lend to all his friends who 
were not always very prompt in repaying him, 
and sometimes forget they owed him anything 
at all. At length, his enemies began to call him 
the Count of the Empty Pockets. This was 


78 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

very unjust, for poor Friedl (that’s what we 
call him, who love him, you know) had had a 
very hard time of it, indeed. His own brother 
had driven him from his throne and usurped it 
himself, and made it a crime for any one to 
even shelter poor Friedl, who wandered about 
from place to place like the veriest vagabond. 
But, at length, he discovered that he had many 
friends who longed to show their devotion to 
him ; he made a stand for his rights and secured 
his throne. But still, the nickname did not 
leave him. So, just to prove to his people that 
he was unjustly called the Count of the Empty 
Pockets, he ordered this wonderful roof of gold 
to be put on his palace. They say it cost him 
$70,000, which certainly was a great sum for 
a man with empty pockets.” 

Turning the horses’ heads in the opposite 
direction, Herr Hofer conducted them through 
the Triumphal Arch and gained the country 
road. 


Some Tyrolese Legends 79 

“ I thought to show the boys the Abbey of 
Wilten,” explained Herr Hofer, as they trotted 
along, “ and perhaps stop at Schloss Amras, 
as we may not have an opportunity soon 
again.” 

“ Oh, uncle,” cried Ferdinand, “ I love to 
see old ruins and castles. We have a lot of 
fine ones about Vienna, but they are all 
alike.” 

“ Well, these will be quite different, I can 
assure you,” replied his uncle. 

The two boys occupied the rear seat with 
Frau Muller, while the fathers sat upon the 
front. And verily the little tongues wagged as 
only boys’ tongues can do. In the midst of 
their spirited conversation, the carriage stopped 
before a splendid old church. 

“ Oh, father,” exclaimed Ferdinand, “ what 
queer looking men ! ” 

Herr Muller looked about, but saw no one. 

“ Where? ” he asked. 


80 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

“ Why, there, by the sides of the church 
door.” 

Both men laughed. 

“ They are queer looking, aren’t they? ” said 
Uncle Hofer. “ But you would think it a lot 
queerer did you know how they came to be 
here.” 

“ Oh, tell us,” the boy exclaimed. 

“ Well, once upon a time, way back in the 
Middle Ages, there were two giants who lived 
in different parts of the earth. Each of them 
was twelve feet or more tall; one was called 
Haymo and the other Tirsus. Now, in those 
times, giants did not remain quietly in their 
strongholds; they set out on adventures; so it 
chanced that, in the course of their travels, 
these two mighty giants encountered each other, 
right on this spot where this abbey stands. 
But of course, there was no abbey here then; 
the ancient Roman town of Veldidena was here- 
abouts. 


Some Tyrolese Legends 81 

“ Now, when the two giants met, they 
stopped, looked one at the other and meas- 
ured his strength. Well, it naturally fell about 
that they decided to prove their strength; in 
the struggle, sad to tell, Haymo killed Tirsus. 
Poor giant Haymo. Big as he was, he wept, for 
he had not meant to harm his giant comrade. 
At length, to ease his mind, he determined to 
build an abbey on the spot, as that seemed to be 
the solace for all evils, in those days. And then 
Haymo would become a monk, and for eighteen 
whole years he would weep and weep as pen- 
ance for the deed. 

“ But poor Haymo had more than he bar- 
gained for. He did not know that the Devil 
had claimed this same spot; no sooner did 
Haymo bring the stones for the foundation of 
his church than the Devil came and pulled them 
down. But Haymo persisted, for he really 
must keep his vow; and evidently he conquered 
the Devil himself, for the abbey stands, as you 


82 Our Little Austrian Cousin 


see, and these are the two statues of the giants 
guarding the portal of the church, so that the 
Devil may not come, I suppose.” 

“ Poor Haymo,” said Ferdinand. “ What a 
hardship to weep for eighteen years, nicht wahr, 
Leopold? ” 

“ Yawohl ” came the stolid reply, while the 
two men chuckled softly. 

It is a peculiarity of Tyrol that, not until one 
attains middle age at least, does he begin to 
appreciate humor the least bit. Children are 
always too serious to admit of “ fun ” in their 
prosaic lives, so that, were it not for the elderly 
people, humor might eventually die out alto- 
gether in Tyrol, so serious a nation are they. 

“ Shall we go inside, father? ” asked Leopold. 

“ We have not time; night will overtake us, 
and we must go on to Schloss Amras yet. 
There really is little to see, however.” 

And while the lads strained their necks and 
eyes to catch a glimpse of the beautiful paint- 



STATUE OF ANDREAS HOFER, NEAR INNSBRUCK 













. 






♦ 


























■ . 1 ' i 1 1 









. 















Some Tyrolese Legends 83 

ings upon the outside walls of the abbey, the 
wonderful gilding and stucco, the horses dis- 
appeared around a bend in the road, and it was 
lost to sight. 

Now they commenced to climb, for the road 
is always up and up in Tyrol. Below them lay 
the wonderful view of Innsbruck, with the Inn 
running gayly along; there, too, was the fair 
abbey with its two giants carved in stone, watch- 
ing ever at the portal. 

“Have you boys any idea where we are?” 
asked Herr Hofer. 

Both shook their heads negatively. 

“ All this country hereabouts is alive with 
interest attaching to Andreas Hofer, our 
patriot,” replied he. “ Here, at this very Gast- 
haus (inn) was where he made his last effort 
against the enemy. We shall learn more of it 
as we go along,” he continued, “ but there is not 
much use to stop here now. We go a few steps 
further to the Schloss.” 


84 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

Truly it was a delightful old place, this castle 
of Amras, one of the few feudal castles left. 
There was an old courtyard paved with great 
stones, there were battlements and towers and 
relics of Roman invasions. The guide led them 
through the castle, room after room, filled with 
most interesting articles of every description 
pertaining to ancient times and wars, all of 
which intensely absorbed the boys’ attention. 

“Oh, what an immense bowl!” cried Fer- 
dinand. “And of glass. What is it for?” 

“ That is the welcome bowl,” replied the at- 
tendant. “We call it, nowadays, the loving 
cup. In every castle there were many like this; 
there was a gold one for ladies, a silver one for 
princes and a glass one for knights, which latter 
was the largest of all. When guests came to 
the castle, the welcome bowl was brought out, 
filled to the brim and handed to the guest, who 
was supposed to drink it off at a draught, if he 
was at all of a hazardous or knightly disposi- 


Some Tyrolese Legends 85 

tion. To his undoing, it sometimes happened 
he did not survive the ordeal; but that mat- 
tered not at all to him; he had displayed his 
bravery and that was worth life itself. After 
the bowl was drained, a great book was brought 
out, in which the guest was requested to write 
his name, no doubt as a test as to his real sta- 
tion, for no one but the highest and noblest 
were able to write or read in those times, and 
it often chanced even they were unable to do 
so.” 

“ Why, that is what they do in hotels ! ” said 
Ferdinand. 

“Yes,” replied the guide, “and probably 
that is where the custom originated, for the 
manager of a hotel but preserves the ancient 
custom of registering the names of his guests.” 

All too soon the visit came to an end; the 
party made its way to the near-by inn to spend 
the night. 


CHAPTER VI 


MORE LEGENDS 

The inn-keeper, Herr Schmidt, was a big, 
raw-boned man with a red face and a jolly air. 
He was a genuine Wirthe or inn-keeper of the 
old-time; and after supper, as they all sat in the 
great sitz-saal together, he told them wonderful 
tales of the country round about, which so 
abounded in legends and folk-lore. As the 
position of Wirthe descends from father to son, 
for generations back, as long as there remains 
any sons to occupy that honored position, natu- 
rally, too, the legends are passed from one to 
the other, so that no one is quite so well able 
to recite these as our hearty friend Herr 
Schmidt. 

“ If it were not so late,” remarked Herr 

Hofer, while the men sat and smoked their 
86 


More Legends 87 

long, curious pipes, “ I should continue on to 
Volders, for it looks as if to-morrow might be 
stormy.” 

“ Oh, you need have no fear as to that,” re- 
plied the host. “ I noticed Frau Hiitte did not 
have her night-cap on.” 

Ferdinand looked at his little cousin with his 
face so puckered up with glee and merriment, 
that Leopold laughed outright. 

“ Do tell Ferdinand about Frau Hiitte, 
father! ” said the child. 

“ No, I think Herr Wirthe better able to do 
that. Bitte,” and he saluted the inn-keeper in 
deference. 

“ And have you never heard of Frau Hiitte, 
my boy?” asked the host. 

“ No, sir,” replied the boy. “ You know I 
live in Vienna.” 

“ Well, everybody knows her,” replied the 
inn-keeper; “but then, you are a little young 
yet, so I will tell you.” 


88 Our Little Austrian Cousin 


“ Very long ago, in the time of giants and 
fairies, — But then you don’t believe in 
fairies, do you?” and the fellow’s eyes 
sparkled keenly. 

“ Oh, yes, I do,” exclaimed the boy hastily, 
for fear if he denied the existence of such be- 
ings, he should miss a good story. 

“ Well, then, there was a queen over the 
giants who was called Frau Hiitte.” 

“ Oh,” interrupted the lad, “ then she isn’t a 
real person? ” 

“ Oh, yes, she was; but that was long ago,” 
continued the story teller. “ Well, Frau Hiitte 
had a young son who was very much like any 
other little child; he wanted whatever he 
wanted, and he wanted it badly. One day, 
this giant child took a notion he should like to 
have a hobby horse. Without saying a word to 
any one, he ran off to the edge of the forest 
and chopped himself a fine large tree. But evi- 
dently the child did not know much about fell- 


More Legends 89 

ing trees, for this one fell over and knocked 
him into the mud. With loud cries, he ran 
home to his mother. Instead of punishing him, 
she bade the nurse wipe off the^ mud with a 
piece of white bread. No one but the very- 
richest could afford the luxury of white bread, 
black bread being considered quite good enough 
for ordinary consumption, so no wonder the 
mountain began to shake and the lightning to 
flash, just as soon as the maid started to obey 
her mistress’ command. 

“ Frau Hiitte was so frightened at this un- 
expected storm that she picked up her son in 
her arms and made for the mountain peak some 
distance from her palace. No sooner had she 
left the palace than it disappeared from view, 
even to the garden, and nothing was ever seen 
of it again. But even in her retreat the waste- 
ful queen was not secure. When she had seated 
herself upon the rock, she became a stone 
image, holding her child in her arms. And 


go Our Little Austrian Cousin 

there she sits to this day. When the clouds 
hover about her head then we know there will 
be a storm, but when Frau Hiitte does not wear 
her night-cap,” and the Wirthe’s eyes sparkled, 
“ then we are certain of clear weather.” 

“ Ever since then, the Tyrolese have made 
Frau Hiitte the theme of a proverb ‘ Spart eure 
Brosamen fur die Armen, damit es euch nicht 
ergehe wie der Frau Hiitte,’ which really means 
‘ Spare your crumbs for the poor, so that you do 
not fare like Frau Hiitte,’ a lesson to the ex- 
travagant.” 

There were endless more stories, all of which 
delighted the boys immensely, but we could not 
begin to relate them all, for Tyrol is so over- 
laden with the spirit of the past, and with the 
charm of legend, that the very air itself breathes 
of fairies and giants, and days of yore, so that 
in invading its territory one feels he is no longer 
in this work-a-day world, but in some enchanted 
spot. 


More Legends 91 

Early the next morning, up with the sun, all 
were ready for the drive home. As Herr 
Wirthe had predicted, the day was fair; as they 
drove away from the Inn, they caught a glimpse 
of Frau Hiitte in the distance beyond Inns- 
bruck, and, sure enough, there she sat on her 
mountain peak, with her great son safely shel- 
tered in her arms. 

“Shall we go to the salt mines, father?” 
asked Leopold, as they made their way along 
the mountain road. 

“ No, we cannot take the time; mother will 
be waiting for us and the women folks are im- 
patient to visit, I know.” 

“ They have wonderful salt mines at Salz- 
burg,” said Ferdinand. “ Perhaps we may go 
there some time to visit them.” 

“ Perhaps,” replied his father. “ But, while 
we are on the subject, did it ever occur to you 
that Salzburg means the ‘ town or castle of 
salt?’ — for, in the old times, all towns were 


92 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

within castle-walls, to protect them from depre- 
dations of the enemy.” 

“Isn’t it curious?” meditated Ferdinand. 

The Inn River crossed, they continued to 
climb. Herr Hofer stopped to rest the horses; 
he glanced about him at the panorama below, 
and chuckled mirthfully. 

“What’s the matter, uncle?” asked Fer- 
dinand. 

“Oh, nothing much; but every time I see 
the towns of Hall and Thaur, just over there,” 
and he pointed with the handle of his whip, 
“ I think of the Bauernkrieg.” 

“ But there isn’t anything very funny about 
a war, is there, uncle?” asked the serious little 
fellow. 

“ Well,” rambled on his uncle, “ there was 
about this one. You see, in early times, when 
Tyrol was not quite so peaceful as it is to-day, 
these two cities were most jealous of each 
other, and were always at feud. A watchman 


More Legends 93 

stood on the tower, day and night, to prevent 
any surprise from his neighbor. One night, in 
midsummer, — and a very hot night it was, 
too, — the people of Hall were roused from 
their slumbers, if they had been able to sleep 
at all in such heat, by the voice of the watch- 
man calling them to arms. 

“‘What is the trouble, watchman?’ cried 
one and all, as they appeared at their win- 
dows. 

“ ‘ Oh,’ exclaimed the frightened fellow, 
‘hasten, friends, hasten! The whole town of 
Thaur is at our gates; and not only are they 
advancing toward us, but each man boldly car- 
ries a lantern.’ 

“ Such audacity was never heard of before. 
In utmost consternation the people gathered 
in the village square and held a consultation. 
It was finally arranged that Herr Zott, the 
steward of the salt mine, and therefore a most 
important personage in the village, should 


94 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

meet the enemy with a flag of truce and de- 
mand the reason for this unexpected attack. 
The inhabitants of Hall, in fear and trembling, 
awaited Herr Zott’s return. 

“ The truce-bearer left the city gates and 
proceeded into the plain, which separated their 
village from the enemy’s. On and on he went; 
but not one soul did he meet. The great army 
of men, each carrying a lantern, had disap- 
peared as if by magic. Finally he reached the 
walls of Thaur, where all was as quiet as it 
should be at that time of the night. 

“ He turned his horse’s head homeward. 
The night was very still, and over the plain 
flashed the lights of thousands of fireflies, 
reveling in the warm summer breeze. It was 
not until he had reached the very gates of his 
own town that Herr Zott realized what had 
caused all the excitement. The watchman had 
mistaken the fireflies for lanterns; and natu- 
rally, as some one must carry the lanterns, who 


More Legends 95 

more probable than their enemy, the people of 
Thaur ? 

“ The townsfolks betook themselves to their 
beds again, laughing heartily over the mistake; 
and even to this day we laugh over the incident 
which has become a by-word in Tyrol; Bauern- 
krieg, or the peasant’s war.” 

“ But I don’t see how peasant’s war can 
mean anything now,” said Ferdinand. 

“ Well, when one becomes excited over noth- 
ing,” returned his uncle, “ they exclaim 
‘ Bauernkrieg.’ Some day you will hear it, 
and then you will recollect the origin of it.” 

Not long after this tale, the carriage stopped 
in front of a most charming home on the moun- 
tainside. The first story was stuccoed, while 
across the entire front and two sides of the 
second and third stories ran a wide wooden 
balcony. Boxes of red and white geraniums 
decked the top of the fancy balustrade, while 
vines trailed themselves far over, giving the 


96 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

house a most “ homey ” appearance. The 
lower story receded far behind the overhang- 
ing second story, which formed a convenient 
space for sheltering the cattle. There is little 
available space in Tyrol for outbuildings, the 
mountains rising so precipitously that there is 
but little level. But, as stone floors separate 
the house from the stable, odors do not pene- 
trate as much as one would imagine. 

At the front of the house stood a woman of 
middle age, her hair carefully drawn back under 
an immense head-dress, so tall it seemed as if 
she would be unable to enter the doorway. 
She wore a black skirt, so very full it had the 
appearance of being a hoop-skirt; but this 
effect was produced by her ten extremely full 
petticoats. The reputation of a Tyrolese 
woman depends, in a great degree, to the num- 
ber of petticoats she wears; sometimes young 
girls, who value modesty highly, wear as many 
as fifteen or more. 


More Legends 97 

Over the black skirt, which showed to ad- 
vantage the white stockings and low shoes with 
their shining buckles of silver, was a most 
elaborately embroidered black apron, the work 
of many hours of tedious labor for the house- 
wife. About her waist was twined a bright 
yellow sash which brightened up the dark 
bodice, with its short sleeves tied fantastically 
with bright yellow ribbons. 

The woman nodded to the travelers; Herr 
Hofer pulled up his horses and descended from 
the carriage. 

“ Well, meine liebe frau, here we are,” said 
he, as he greeted his wife. 

Such hugging as followed! Ferdinand was 
clasped time and again against the ample 
bosom of Frau Hofer, and even Herr Muller 
came in for a goodly share, while as for the 
greeting that Frau Muller received, no words 
may convey its warmth. 

The party made its way up the narrow stair- 


98 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

way with carved balustrade, which led from the 
ground floor to the second story, upon the out- 
side of the house. This is the most convenient 
manner of building staircases in Tyrol, because 
it does not track mud and dirt through the cor- 
ridors, and saves much interior space. 

The guest-room was certainly restful look- 
ing. Its dark polished floor of pine had been 
newly polished until it fairly radiated; the big 
bed of wood, painted a vivid color of green, 
also had received scrupulous polishing; two 
small home-made rugs, one at the bedside, the 
other at the washstand, had been scrubbed and 
beaten until it seemed as if there would be 
nothing left of them. At the side of the can- 
opied bed stood a tiny foot-stool: the Tyrolese 
beds being extremely high make the use of a 
stool necessary. No doubt the object of this 
is to avoid draughts, as none of the floors are 
carpeted, many being of cement. Immaculate 
white curtains hung at the casement windows, 


More Legends 99 

those dear little windows, unlike anything we 
have in America, which open into the room and 
give such a cosy character to the home. A 
basin of Holy Water was hung in its accustomed 
place, and the image of the Virgin hung over 
the table ; for, you must know, the Tyrolese are 
devout Roman Catholics, as, in fact, are nearly 
all the natives of the Austro-Hungarian Em- 
pire. 


CHAPTER VII 


A NIGHT WITH THE SENNER 

Merry days followed ; there were excursions 
almost every day. Ferdinand and Leopold 
would spend part of the time picking flowers 
on the mountain-sides, or would help with the 
cattle and in the garden, so that their elders 
might be able to devote more time to recreation 
with their guests. 

One morning the two men and boys set out 
with rucksacks on their shoulders, and long 
alpenstocks in their hands, to climb the moun- 
tain and visit an “ alp ” in the pasture lands, 
for in the summertime the cows of the neighbor- 
ing villagers are driven to pasture in charge of 
a few attendants, sometimes men, called senner, 
sometimes women, called sennerin, where they 
remain during the entire season. 


IOO 


A Night with the Senner ioi 

“ Have you never seen the senner^’, Fer- 
dinand?” asked his cousin. 

“ Oh, yes. Don’t you remember the last time 
I was here,” replied Ferdinand, “ we saw them 
drive the cattle away? ” 

“ But I said the sennem (dairy),” repeated 
the child. 

“ No, but I should love to see the cheeses 
made; the alps look so picturesque.” 

“ Well, they aren’t quite so nice when you 
reach them,” admitted his cousin; “however, 
we are not going specially to see the dairy but 
the dance which the sennern have on Saturday 
night. Oh, it’s great.” 

“ Do they have one every Saturday 
night?” 

“Very near, as long as the season lasts; 
it’s wonderful, Ferdinand. I’ve seen some 
of the fellows do the most astonishing 
tricks.” 

Of course, such conversation stimulated the 


102 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

city lad’s desire to a great pitch ; and it was with 
the keenest joy he tramped over the rocky 
mountains, which was difficult for him. But 
he said nothing; he kept before his mind the 
delights of the dance he should witness, and 
plodded on. 

At length they reached the first “ alp,” or 
chalet, as the huts which serve for sleeping- 
room and dairy for the sennern are called. 
These chalets are built at different heights up 
the mountain; when the cattle have eaten all 
the green grass available at one level they 
are driven to the next higher pasture and 
so on until, towards the beginning of No- 
vember, they return to the village for the 
winter. 

Picturesque as the “ alp ” may look from 
the distance, it is scarce one of grandeur upon 
closer view. It consists of a low wooden hut, 
usually of one room, and a sort of adjoining 
alcove. In the main room is a bunk built 


A Night with the Senner 103 

against the wall; nothing but straw serves for 
the mattress; there are no coverlets except the 
blanket the senner always carries with him, and 
in which he wraps himself. In another part of 
this uninviting room is a hollowed space where 
the fire is built, over which hangs a great crane 
and an iron pot for use in making the cheeses 
so famous throughout Tyrol. 

The alcove serves as a store-room for the 
cheeses, and for the dairy, while off to one end 
is sometimes a room for such cattle as are ill or 
young cattle who must be protected from the 
chill night air of the mountain. 

As evening advanced from all directions 
came merry voices, ringing the clear notes of 
yodels from over the mountainsides. Each 
sennerin knows the peculiar yodel of her swain; 
and you may be sure her heart beats light when 
she hears, miles and miles away, the beautiful, 
clear notes of his call. This is the only method 
the mountaineers have of communicating with 


104 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

each other. The peculiar notes carry across 
ravines and hillsides as distinctly as if one 
were close at hand. 

“ Oh, father,” said Ferdinand, as he touched 
him upon the elbow, “ what queer-looking men 
these are ! I have not seen such costumes about 
here. Do they belong to Tyrol?” 

“Yes, but these men are from the south, 
from Meran. When a man is married he must 
distinguish himself by placing a green cord 
about his hat, so that he may not allow folks 
to think him single; we other Austrians wear 
the wedding-ring, the same as the women; but 
in the different provinces, customs vary.” 

Ferdinand watched the different costumes of 
the men, as they poured in from all directions. 
There were some in brown jackets trimmed with 
red, and wide brown suspenders; all Tyrolese 
men wear these wide suspenders, sometimes 
of one color, sometimes of another, but usually 
green, of which color they are passionately 


A Night with the Senner 105 

fond, no doubt because their country is so won- 
derfully green. Most of the men wore knee 
trousers of leather, while some were of home- 
spun, but that was an extravagance. The stock- 
ings, usually grey and home-knitted, reached 
from the ankle to just below the knee leaving 
the latter bare. Without exception, all wore 
the Tyrolese cap of rough green cloth, at the 
back of which was the black-cock’s tail, while 
one or two isolated fellows were fortunate 
enough to deck their hats with the Gamsbart or 
Beard of the Chamois, as it is called; but this 
is not the correct name for it, as it is not the 
beard of the chamois but the long tuft which 
grows upon his back in the winter. 

On the green of the mountainside, in a spot 
selected for its advantage of being as near level 
as possible, the dance took place. The senner 
and sennerin went through manoeuvers that did 
them credit; they swung each other in giddy 
fashion until one almost believed they would 


106 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

spin themselves down the mountainside, and 
thus dance to their deaths; but after whirling 
at great speed for many minutes, they would 
suddenly pull up with a jerk and seem none the 
worse for the whirling. 

It was no unusual sight for Ferdinand to see 
the Tyrolese dances; but here on the pasture 
lands, on their native heath, he saw them per- 
form many which were most unfamiliar to him. 
He always smiled when he saw the women place 
their arms about their partners’ necks and waltz 
in that fashion; and then, when the couples 
separated, the women to dance round and 
round, holding out their full skirts to their 
greatest width, while the men indulged in all 
sorts of fantastic gymnastics, was truly bewil- 
dering. 

At length the evening drew to a close; the 
company dispersed as quickly as it had as- 
sembled, and all was quiet upon the mountain- 
side. One might have imagined himself back 


A Night with the Senner 107 

to the days of Old Rip Van Winkle, so myste- 
rious did the entire proceeding seem. 

In the morning, the party descended the 
mountain. The air was very clear, although 
the day was cloudy, the sun steadfastly refusing 
to appear; but this made walking agreeable 
for which all were thankful. 

“ Did you ever hear so many bells in your 
life?” observed the city cousin. 

“ Oh, those are the cow-bells,” replied Leo- 
pold. “ Each herd has its own peculiar tone, 
so that the cattle won’t get mixed up, where 
there are so many together. And then the sen- 
ner can tell right away to which owner they be- 
long.” 

“ But there is such a constant tinkling, and 
so many different tones, I don’t see how one can 
ever tell which is his own,” replied the lad. 

“ That is because you are not used to it,” 
answered his uncle. “ After you have been on 
the mountain awhile, you, too, would be able to 


108 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

distinguish your own bell as well as the senner 
in charge.” 

And to the tinkling of the bells, the party 
descended until they were well out of reach of 
the bewitching sounds. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THROUGH THE TYROLESE MOUNTAINS 

When the pedestrians reached home in the 
early afternoon, a letter was awaiting Herr 
Muller. It was from Herr Runkel, stating he 
was obliged to make a visit to Dalmatia to see 
his younger brother Max on business, and if 
Herr Muller would care to make the trip with 
him, he would meet him at Villach in Carinthia 
the following Tuesday. Of course, there was 
new excitement now for the boys ; the one 
wished to go with his father, while the other 
was urgent in his demands that the cousin re- 
main with him. Finally it was arranged that 
both boys should accompany Herr Muller, 
while Frau Muller should remain with her rela- 
tives and join her husband and son at Gratz in 
Styria, on their return. 

109 


no Our Little Austrian Cousin 

Leopold had never made a journey from 
home before, except the one time he had been 
to Innsbruck, quite recently, to meet his Muller 
relations; so you may be certain there was one 
little heart which beat faster than normal. 

“ We shall leave to-morrow, then,” decided 
Herr Muller, “ if you think you can be ready 
in that time,” he added, addressing the Tyrolese 
youngster. “ Because we shall want to visit 
some of the mountain towns; and if you boys 
want to see anything of Tyrol we had better 
walk than take the train.” 

“ Oh, I could be ready to-night,” ventured 
the child, delighted beyond measure. But his 
uncle assured him the morning would be ample 
time, and the two lads skipped away to talk 
over the plans. 

As the sun was just beginning to peep above 
the mountaintop, the party of three set off, 
with many admonitions from Frau Hofer to her 
child, and many also from Frau Muller that 



TRAMP THUS, IN VAGABOND FASHION, OVER THE 

mountains! ” 















































































' 

. . . 

i 










































































Through the Tyrolese Mountains 1 1 1 

Ferdinand should not allow his cousin to be too 
adventuresome. But to this Leopold smiled. 

“ I am used to the mountains, auntie,” he 
said. “ Ferdinand will tire long before I do, 
you’ll see.” 

How glorious it was to tramp thus, in vaga- 
bond fashion, over the mountains ! They 
stopped wherever night overtook them, passed 
through Brixen, the wine center of much im- 
portance in Tyrol, and on through narrow de- 
files through which there seemed no exit. A 
bracing walk of six miles from Brixen brought 
them to Klausen, or The Pass, so completely 
hidden among mountains there was but room 
for one long, narrow street. 

“ Well, I had no idea Klausen was quite so 
narrow,” Herr Muller remarked. “ I can well 
believe the tale of the barber, now.” 

“What barber, uncle?” asked Leopold. 

“ The barber of Klausen. You’ve never 
heard it? Well, there once lived a barber in 


1 12 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

this town who was old and full of rheumatism ; 
he had a client whom he must shave every 
morning; but the poor barber found it very 
difficult to descend three flights of steps from 
his dwelling and ascend three more on the op- 
posite side of the street, in order to shave his 
customer. He could not afford to lose this fee, 
yet it was exceedingly painful for him to at- 
tempt the climb. 

“ One morning he opened his window and 
called to his neighbor. Upon hearing the bar- 
ber’s voice, the man in the opposite house 
opened his window and asked what was wanted. 

“ ‘ Allow me,’ said the ingenious barber. 
‘ I am unable to descend the stairs this morn- 
ing; my rheumatism is getting the better of me. 
But, in order that you may not lose your shave, 
if you will lean a little way out of your window, 
I shall be able to accomplish the duty quite as 
well as though you were sitting in your chair in 
your room.’ 


Through the Tyrolese Mountains 113 

For a moment the man hesitated; but, as 
the village was small, and there was but one 
barber, it was either a question of going un- 
shaved, or of following the fellow’s advice. 
Accordingly, he consented; he stretched his 
neck far out of the window, the barber placed 
the towel beneath his chin, and, with all the 
dexterity in his power, he proceeded to shave 
his client; and thenceforth the barber per- 
formed this operation in a similar manner, quite 
to the satisfaction of them both.” 

They passed on through the village of Waid- 
bruck, the very center of romanticism ; for here, 
right at the mouth of the Grodener-thal, rises 
the fascinating Castle of Trostburg, the home 
of the Counts of Wolkenstein; and here was 
bom Count Oswald, the last of all the long line 
of Minnesingers or troubadours, who found em- 
ployment and enjoyment in wandering from 
castle to castle, their harps or zithers under 
their arms, singing love-songs or reciting war- 


1 14 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

stories that stirred the young blood to ac- 
tion. 

They climbed to the magnificent Castle of 
Hauerstein, so hidden among the mountain- 
peaks and dense woods that one might imagine 
it to be the palace of the Sleeping Beauty; and 
then they diverged a few miles up the ravine in 
order to visit Santa Claus’ shops, for such might 
be called the village of St. Ulrich with its count- 
less numbers of toy shops. In every cottage 
men, women and young children busy them- 
selves from morning until night, from one year’s 
end to the other, in making toys; carved ani- 
mals for Noah’s Arks, dolls and wagons, to 
supply the world’s demand of the children. 
Here, too, the very language is different from 
any other spoken roundabout; for the inhabit- 
ants, primitive in language as in everything else, 
still cling to the tongue of the Romans, which 
is to-day known as the Ladin or Romansch 
tongue. 


Through the 'Tyrolese Mountains 115 

They passed the night at Botzen, and, as the 
sun sunk behind the lofty mountains just beyond, 
a gorgeous glow overspread their entire sum- 
mit. 

“ Isn’t it beautiful! ” remarked the two lads 
almost at the same moment. 

“ And it looks just like a rose-garden, too,” 
added Leopold. 

“ It is a rose-garden, child,” answered Herr 
Muller. “ It is called the Rosengarten or 
Gardl (Little Garden).” 

“ But is it possible, father,” asked Ferdi- 
nand, “ that roses will bloom on such lofty 
heights? ” 

“ Well, this is the legend about it. Once 
upon a time, there lived an ugly dwarf who was 
king over all the underground sprites and elves 
in the mountains of Tyrol. He was in the habit 
of going forth from his palace, wrapped in a 
magic cloak which rendered him invisible. 
Now, it chanced that during one of these expe- 


1 1 6 Our Little Austrian Cousin 


ditions, Laurin went into the country of Styria, 
which lies right over there to the east. We 
shall pass that way on our return to Vienna. 
He saw a most beautiful maiden who was play- 
ing in a meadow with her attendants. Suddenly 
she disappeared from before the very eyes of 
her companions; they shouted, but no answer 
came back to them; in great dismay they fled 
back to the castle to report the news to the 
princess’ brother Dietlieb. 

“ Dietlieb had heard of Laurin and his pro- 
pensity for carrying off fair maidens; Dietlieb 
was a brave knight and had traveled far, so, as 
soon as he heard the news, he suspicioned at 
once that Laurin had done the deed. Imme- 
diately he set out for the city of Bern, where 
the king held his court, to demand that the 
dwarf be punished for his insolence. But the 
king was powerless against Laurin’s magic; 
however, he warned Dietlieb not to attempt to 
approach too near the dwarf’s domains, for it 


Through the Tyrolese Mountains 117 

was guarded by four magnificent pillars of 
shining gold, and a fence of silken thread 
stretched between. 

“ ‘ Remember,’ said the king, 4 should you 
happen to break so much as one strand of 
Laurin’s fence, he will demand the forfeit of a 
foot and a hand.’ 

“ In hot rage Dietlieb left the king’s palace; 
what mattered to him Laurin’s magic powers, 
if only he could recover his dear sister, the 
Princess Kunhild? 

“ With a few faithful companions he set out 
over the mountains until he reached the Rose- 
garden before the dwarf’s underground abode, 
the very sight of which so enraged the worthy 
knight that he tore away the silken threads and 
destroyed the four gorgeous pillars. 

“ Within his subterranean palace, Laurin 
heard the destruction without; he mounted his 
war-horse, and putting on his magic belt, which 
endowed him with supernatural strength, he 


1 1 8 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

appeared at the door of the cave covered with 
sparkling jewels from head to foot. 

“ ‘ Who has dared to enter my domains? ’ he 
shouted. ‘ And to destroy my garden ? Let 
him who has done the deed stand forth that I 
may exact the punishment ! ’ 

“ ‘ Be not so hasty, Sir Laurin,’ replied one 
of the knights, ‘ we will gladly repay you three, 
four-fold, if you wish, what you demand. The 
season is early and your roses will bloom again.’ 

“ ‘ I care not for your gold,’ replied the in- 
dignant king; ‘ I have gold and to spare. I 
demand satisfaction, and satisfaction I shall 
have.’ 

“ So saying, he spurred on his horse. There 
was a hotly contested battle ; in the end, he was 
overpowered by Dietlieb, who had torn from 
him his magic belt, and thus robbed him of his 
strength. 

“ ‘ Come,’ said Laurin, ‘ let us not harbor ill 
feelings against one another. Come into my 


Through the Tyrolese Mountains 119 

palace, Sir Knights, and drink to the health of 
the fair Kunhild.’ 

“ He led them through the door of the cave, 
down several long corridors at the end of each 
of which was a stout door, one of bronze, an- 
other of steel and a third of gold, and entered 
the banquet hall, where the table was gorgeously 
decorated with gold and silver and most rare 
flowers. 

“ As the dinner drew to a close — at which 
Kunhild had presided, dazzling with jewels — 
the knights fell into a sound doze; when they 
awoke each was locked securely in a separate 
cell with no means of communicating one with 
the other. But, when all was still, Kunhild en- 
tered her brother’s dungeon and released him 
by the aid of her magic arts, which she had 
learned while captive. 

“ \ Take this ring,’ she said, ‘ gather up your 
weapons and flee for your life.’ 

“ ‘ But will you go with me ? ’ he said. 


120 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

“ ‘ I will come later,’ she replied. ‘ But make 
your escape now before Laurin discovers us.’ 

“ Dietlieb did not require a second bidding. 
The magic of Laurin had penetrated through 
the stone walls of the cell, however, and he fol- 
lowed the knight to the outer earth and there 
they fought a terrible battle. When Laurin 
found himself yielding to the superior strength 
of the knight, he blew a shrill blast upon his 
golden horn, and five enormous giants ap- 
peared. Meanwhile Kunhild had not been idle ; 
she had released the companions of her brother, 
who now rushed to the scene of the fray, and 
in spite of his magic arts, and his reinforcement 
of the five giants, Laurin was made prisoner 
and carried off into Styria. The garden was left 
uncared for, and little by little it died; but on 
just such evenings as this, one can see the gor- 
geous roses, which will bloom only as the sun 
descends.” 

“ Do you think, father,” said Ferdinand, 



TIIE ROSENGARTEN. 


































































Through the Tyrolese Mountains 121 

“ that there is really an underground palace in 
those mountains?” 

“Well, that’s what they say; many have 
tried to find the entrance, but the key has been 
lost ; some day, one may be fortunate enough to 
find it, and then great riches will be his. It is 
my private opinion that within those mountains 
lie metals unknown to exist, and when one has 
opened the door to them, he will discover great 
riches in them.” 

“ I should like to gather just one rose, uncle,” 
said Leopold. “ I think mother would like to 
have one, for she has never seen the Rosen- 
garten.” 

“ You cannot do that, my boy, because they 
are not real roses; the rocks of the mountain 
are composed of magnesia and chalk, which 
take on these beautiful colors when the rays of 
the setting sun fall upon them; and it is only 
the sharp, jagged points of those rocks which 
simulate roses, that you see.” 


122 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

Another night would see them out of Tyrol, 
much to the regret of Ferdinand, for he had 
never imagined such an interesting land to exist. 

“ How did Tyrol come to belong to our coun- 
try, father?” asked Ferdinand. 

“ Well, in the olden times,” answered Herr 
Muller, “ Tyrol was governed by counts who 
ruled like kings; but in 1363 a princess was the 
ruler; she was a woman with a very hasty 
temper and was nicknamed Pocket-mouthed 
Meg. Some say she received this nickname be- 
cause her mouth was so extraordinarily large; 
but others tell a tale of her Bavarian cousin, 
who lived in the adjoining territory, who struck 
her on the mouth during a quarrel. It certainly 
was not a very gentlemanly thing for the Bava- 
rian cousin to do, but children were not brought 
up so carefully as they are to-day, and you must 
not think too harshly of this little Bavarian, 
which sounds quite like barbarian. But Queen 
Margaret could never forgive nor forget that 


Through the Tyrolese Mountains 123 

blow; in after years, when her own son was 
dead, and her kingdom must be left to some 
one, she preferred to give it to her Habsburg 
cousins, who were Austrians, so that ever since, 
with the exception of a few years in which sev- 
eral nations struggled for possession of it, it 
has belonged to the Austrian Empire. 

“ You know Emperor Maximilian I, who was 
one of our greatest rulers, loved Tyrol best of 
all his provinces,” continued Herr Muller. 

“ I don’t blame him,” replied Ferdinand, “ I 
think he was quite right.” 


CHAPTER IX 


THE HABICHT - BURG RAVENS 

From Botzen, the train took them through 
the Puster-thal, which is on the north boundary 
of Italy, and on to Villach in Carinthia, where 
they were to meet Herr Runkel. There were 
great demonstrations when he saw the two 
young lads. 

“Have you never been to Dalmatia?” he 
asked them. 

Both shook their heads negatively. 

“ What a splendid thing, then, that business 
called me to Zara,” he replied, “ for Dalmatia 
is one of the provinces of our empire which is 
different from any of the others. You see, in 
the first place, it is on the Adriatic Sea, and 
could one have vision that would carry that far, 
he might glance over into the opposite country 

124 


The Habicht-burg Ravens 125 

of Italy. But, as if to make up for that lack 
of supernatural power, Italy has brought her 
customs and manners into Dalmatia, so we shall 
really be seeing two countries at one time.” 

Through Carinthia the party made its way, 
over the Kara-Wanken Mountains into Istria 
and spent the night at Trieste. As neither of 
the boys had seen the sea before, it was a never- 
ending source of wonder and delight to them 
to wander about the wharves, to see the ships 
of many nations lying in the harbor, flying their 
flags of many colors, and to see the curious 
sights of a sea-town. There was nothing to 
remind them of Austria with its German cus- 
toms, even the name of the city (Tergeste) 
being Roman, which was conquered by that na- 
tion, and colonized about B. c. 41. There are 
no longer strassen (streets), but vias, and 
piazzas (squares) take the place of platze. 
As in most Italian cities, there were narrow, 
winding streets, some of which were nothing 


126 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

more than mere flights of steps lined on each 
side, in place of a balustrade, with houses. 

In the morning it had been arranged to make 
a hasty trip to Miramar, the charming residence 
of the Archduke Maximilian, the favorite 
brother of the emperor. 

“ Here it is,” said Herr Muller, “ that the 
ominous ravens warned the archduke of the 
fatality which should overtake him in accept- 
ing the throne of Mexico at the instance of 
Napoleon III of France. And the raven’s 
warning came true, for the unfortunate young 
prince never returned.” 

“ Tell us about the ravens, father,” said Fer- 
dinand, as they stood upon the terrace before 
the villa, overlooking the wonderful Adriatic. 

“ Well, you know the house of Habsburg oc- 
cupies the Austrian throne to-day,” began Herr 
Muller. 

“ Yawohl” replied the two simultaneously. 

“ Well, many hundreds of years ago, the 


The Habicht-burg Ravens 127 

founder of the Habsburg dynasty, Count 
Rudolph, was born in a very ancient and formi- 
dable castle in the northern part of Switzerland, 
somewhere near Zurich. The castle was known 
throughout the country by the peculiar name of 
the Hawk’s Castle or Habicht-burg, from a 
story concerning one of the first counts who 
lived there. 

“ This was Count Gontran, of Altenbourg. 
He was a brave and gallant knight and loved 
to spend his time among the mountains hunting, 
when he was not away to the war. As he was 
so fearless in this sport, pursuing his enemy to 
the remotest spots of their lairs, he gained the 
sobriquet of the ‘ Hawk Count ’ or Der Habicht 
Graf. 

“ One day he had climbed to the top of a 
most peculiarly shaped rock, which much re- 
sembled a fortress. In his eagerness to reach 
the summit he had lost sight of his companions; 
but in his joy at the marvelous panorama 


128 Our Little Austrian Cousin 


spread beneath him, he quite forgot all about 
them, and gave himself up only to the spell of 
the wildness surrounding him. 

“ Suddenly the air grew thick with moving 
objects; the sun was hidden from sight, and 
then the count realized that numberless vul- 
tures, whose habitation he had invaded, had 
gathered about the rock in swarms, waiting for 
their time to come when they might claim him 
their victim. But Der Habicht Graf was no 
craven; he made no attempt to fight; well he 
knew they would not attack him until he had 
passed that stage when he would be able to 
defend himself. 

“ All at once, while he thus stood defying his 
antagonists, a shrill cawing was heard on all 
sides; in a few moments the air was filled with 
innumerable ravens who seemed to have ap- 
peared from out the very heavens, so silently 
and unexpectedly had they come. There was a 
sharp battle between the two swarms, the 


The Habicht-burg Ravens 129 

smaller birds being able to drive off the larger 
on account of their greater numbers. And then, 
when all vestige of both feathered tribes had 
disappeared, Count Gontran was able to find 
his way down the almost inaccessible rock, 
where he joined his companions at its base, who 
had given him up for lost, as their shouts had 
failed to reach him, and no answering call came 
back to them. 

“ From that day Der Habicht Graf chose the 
raven for his pennon; he became their protector, 
feeding them in winter, until, as time went on, 
they became verily a pest. 

“ Der Habicht Graf died, and others came 
into possession of Der Habicht-burg. There 
was little sentiment in these descendants con- 
cerning the ravens, and when Count Rudolph 
succeeded to the estate in 1240, he had them all 
driven away or killed. Ever since that time, 
the birds have taken a peculiar delight in fore- 
telling disaster to the house of Habsburg (as 


130 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

Habicht-burg has been corrupted into). And 
right here, in this garden,” continued Herr 
Muller, “ was where the ravens came and flew 
about the heads of the Archduke Maximilian 
and his young wife Carlota before they left on 
that fatal journey.” 

“ What happened then, father? ” 

“ Surely you must know. The Mexicans re- 
fused to accept a foreign ruler; he was sen- 
tenced to be shot, and although Carlota made 
the trip to France three times to beg Napoleon 
III to save her husband, the emperor was deaf 
to all her appeals.” 

“ That was because Napoleon was not born 
a king, father,” remarked Ferdinand. “ Had 
he been truly royal, he would have saved 
Maximilian.” 

Herr Muller made no further comment, but 
shook his head slowly in an affirmative nod. 

From Trieste the boat was taken to Pola, one 
of the oldest cities in the country, quite at the 


The Habicht-burg Ravens 131 

extreme tip of Istria. Although the Romans 
built a city here in 178 B. c., yet many of the 
ancient landmarks remain, among which, out- 
side the ancient city walls, stands the splendid 
Amphitheatre where gladiators fought and wild 
beasts contended with human beings for su- 
premacy. 

As Herr Runkel was obliged to make Zara 
on a specified day, they were not permitted to 
linger in the Istrian peninsula, with its almost 
continuous olive-groves and vineyards, famous 
throughout the world; but boarding a small 
steamer they slowly made their way to the sea- 
coast town of Zara in Dalmatia, stretching like 
a lizard along the Adriatic. 

No longer was there sign of modernism or 
progress; every object, every peasant spoke of 
the past, of long-flown glory, and of poverty. 
One could almost imagine himself back in those 
days, six hundred or more years before Christ, 
when the Argonauts inhabited the spot, and 


132 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

who, in turn, ceded to the Celts and they to the 
inevitable Romans. Then Charlemagne cov- 
eted Dalmatia; later the influential Venetians 
wrested it from the Germans; and in 1798 it 
was finally ceded to Austria, to whom it has 
ever since belonged, except for a short period 
when it belonged to France. 

The peasants were gorgeous in their gay cos- 
tumes ; there were men in light-colored trousers, 
very tight fitting, laced with fancy cords of gold 
or silver thread, and most elaborately embroid- 
ered about the pockets in front; there were 
short jackets of bright cloth designed in intricate 
fashion in tinseled thread, with tassels about the 
edges ; there were women with blue skirts, very 
short, over which was an apron so heavily em- 
broidered that it seemed more like an Oriental 
rug than a bit of cloth, while the bodice was 
one mass of embroidery. Every conceivable 
spot was embroidered; about the neck, the 
shoulders, down the front and at the wrists. 


The Habicht-burg Ravens 133 

There was color, color, color; fringes and tas- 
sels and gold thread, as if these poor gewgaws 
could make up to the peasant for all the poverty 
he suffered and the monotony of his life. But 
how charming they did look in their apparel; 
if their lives were not the sunniest, they surely 
tried to embody the very sunlight into their 
clothing, and that helps a lot, for they were 
never so happy as when decked in their gayest, 
wearing the hand-made filigree silver orna- 
ments about their necks, in their ears and upon 
their fingers, even about their waists, which no 
persuasion nor hunger can prevail upon them to 
part with. 

Herr Runkel’s younger brother Max was an 
apprentice in Zara; his term was about to ex- 
pire and some arrangement must be made for 
the future. It was this which had brought Herr 
Runkel to Zara. While he was busy with his 
brother’s affairs, the rest of the party wandered 
about the ancient city; they visited the market- 


134 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

place, alive and riotous with brilliant coloring; 
they inspected the wharves, and commented 
upon St. Mark’s Lion, which reposed over the 
entrance-gate from the harbor, in the city wall, 
a relic of Venetian invasion, as if that stone lion 
was yet watching for the return of his people. 
They even crossed over to the islands, which lie 
like so many bits of broken mainland, to watch 
the fishing which is so remunerative, the sardine 
fishery being one of the greatest sources of 
revenue of the country. 

His business terminated satisfactorily, Herr 
Runkel suggested they might return by way of 
the provinces of Bosnia, Croatia and Styria, be- 
cause these held such wonders in sightseeing 
for the children. 


CHAPTER X 

THROUGH DALMATIA AND THE BORDER - LANDS 

Early the following morning they made 
their start, packs on backs, over the low, waste 
lands of Dalmatia. The sun was burning hot; 
nothing but extensive plains of desert met the 
eye; far in the distance were low mountains, 
which glistened in the scorching sun with a 
startling whiteness, most dazzling to the eyes. 
There was a sameness about the landscape 
which wearied the boys. 

“ I certainly should not like to live here,” re- 
marked Leopold; “it is not so nice as Tyrol; 
there is too much barrenness, and too much 
dazzling whiteness.” 

“ Nevertheless,” replied his uncle, “ this is a 

fine country; the wine and olive oil are famous 
*35 


136 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

the world over, to say nothing of the fruit and 
flowers. If you did but stop to think about it, 
most of the fruit and flowers we have in Vienna 
out of season come from this region.” 

“ But how can anything grow in a desert?” 

“ We shall soon see,” replied his uncle. 
“ Dalmatia looks baked, but it is extremely pro- 
ductive.” 

After some time, the soil began to grow more 
and more irregular. Great stones lay upon the 
surface, and immense fissures opened up at ir- 
regular distances. 

“ Now, my boy, can you call this a desert? ” 
asked Herr Muller. “ Here are the gardens 
of Dalmatia.” 

“The gardens?” exclaimed both children. 

“ Yes.” 

“ But I see nothing but great ravines,” said 
Leopold. 

“ They are not ravines, child, but great cracks 
opened up in the swampy soil which has burst 


Dalmatia and the Border-Lands 137 

asunder from the terrific heat of the sun. But 
that is what saves the country from starvation; 
on the bottom of these fissures are deposits of 
fertile soil washed into them by the rains, and 
here the peasant plants his crops. Here you 
see one too narrow to plant anything in, but 
over there,” and he pointed to the immediate 
right, “ is one which stretches a mile or more.” 

“How interesting!” exclaimed Ferdinand. 
“ But what a queer place to plant crops.” 

At the farm-house, a low, uninviting hut with 
thatch roof, they stopped to fill their flasks. 
The farmer led them to the rear of the house 
where was a huge tank of stagnant water. 

“ But we cannot drink that,” said Herr 
Runkel, astonished. 

“ It is all there is,” remarked the peasant. 
“ In Dalmatia we drink rain water. It is all we 
have. There are no streams in Dalmatia except 
in the mountains, and often those are under- 
ground.” 


138 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

“Underground?” cried Ferdinand. “How 
do you get the water then? ” 

“ Oh, the water runs along in the limestone 
until it meets with some obstruction, or when it 
deems it time to appear upon the surface, then 
it will flow on in a fine stream for some dis- 
tance, when perhaps it will disappear again for 
awhile.” 

“ I never heard of such a thing,” said Leo- 
pold, to whom water was so very plentiful in 
Tyrol. 

“ It is a wise precaution of Nature,” an- 
swered the peasant. “ In these hot lands, were 
it not for this provision, the streams would soon 
dry up.” 

“ But why don’t you convey this water from 
the mountains to your home?” asked Herr 
Muller. 

“That costs too much; we have no money 
to spend on luxuries; we have the rain and we 
gather the water as it falls.” 


Dalmatia and the Border-lands 139 

Walking on, having thanked the peasant 
for his courtesy, they came in sight of a 
convent. 

“ Now we shall have some fresh water, I 
am bound,” said Herr Muller. “ Convents are 
always well supplied with refreshments of all 
kinds.” 

A friar in brown costume opened the door 
to them and ushered them into a cool courtyard, 
paved with brick, in which were small openings 
at regular intervals. At the well in the centre 
of the court the flasks were filled with delicious, 
clear, cool water. 

“ It surprises me,” said Herr Runkel, “ that 
you have such delicious water here, while just 
below, a mile or two, the peasant told us there 
was no water available for miles around, ex- 
cept rain water.” 

“ He is quite right, too,” returned the affable 
friar. “ If it were not for the rain we should 
all perish; but the peasant does not take the 


140 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

pains to collect the rain in just the same manner 
as we do.” 

He then explained to them the method of 
obtaining the drinking water. The earth under 
the brick pavement was dug out to the depth 
of several feet; the sides and bottom were lined 
with some hard substance, sometimes clay, some- 
times cement, to form a foundation to the cis- 
tern. In the middle of the pit was built a well 
of brick; fine, clean sand was then put in to the 
level of the court; the brick pavement was then 
laid, through the openings of which the rain 
passed into the bed of sand, and, as it seeped 
through the brick well eventually the sand fil- 
tered the water from all impurities and imparted 
to it a taste, without which it would have been 
“ flat.” 

A brief rest, and some slight refreshment, 
upon which the friar insisted, and the travelers 
plodded on; they passed peasants pushing 
crude wooden ploughs such as have been in 


Dalmatia and the Border-lands 141 

use since long-forgotten ages, but which seem 
specially adapted to the rocky, stubborn soil 
of Dalmatia. And being so close to the border 
of Bosnia they encountered Bosnian peasants, 
fine tall men much like Turks in their costumes, 
for Turkey lies just next door on the south. 
The Bosnian Mohammedan women veil their 
faces like the Turkish women, and wear white 
garments with an apron of many colors, not 
outdoing, however, the men with their gold em- 
broidered vests their scarlet jackets and the fez 
upon their heads. A curious contrariety of 
nature is, that although the Bosnians and Herz- 
egovians dislike the Turk, nevertheless they 
cling to the Turkish costume with pertinacity. 
So deep was their hatred of the Turk that these 
two provinces combined and placed themselves 
under the Austrian rule. 

As night approached, the travelers made 
their way towards a very large, low house sur- 
rounded with outbuildings, and all enclosed by 


142 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

a strong palisade of timbers built for de- 
fense. 

“ We shall pass the night at the Community 
House,” said Herr Runkel. 

“A Community House?” repeated Leopold. 

“Yes. You see, in the olden times, the 
borders of this country, and the neighboring 
ones, Servia, Bosnia, Croatia and Roumania, 
were constantly being overrun by the Turks, 
who have always been the dread of nations, 
their cruelty being proverbial. The inhabitants 
of these border-countries were forced to pro- 
tect themselves, as in unity was their strength. 
Consequently, they built a Community or Gen- 
eral House in which the villagers might live to- 
gether for mutual protection, and mutual benefit 
as well.” 

“ But they don’t have wars to fear any more, 
do they?” asked Ferdinand. 

“ No. Nevertheless custom of long-standing 
cannot be lightly laid aside. Our empress 


Dalmatia and the Border-lands 143 

Maria-Theresa, seeing the advantage these 
communities afforded as a means of defense, 
had a long line of them built, seven thousand 
miles long, from the Carpathian Mountains on 
the east of Transylvania to the sea-coast in 
Croatia to protect the border from the Turks, 
but now these fortifications have been aban- 
doned. However, isolated Communities re- 
main, being a part of the customs of Servia, 
and you will find them vastly different from 
anything you have yet seen.” 

It was quite late in the afternoon; the sun 
had not yet sunk, because the days were at their 
longest; however, it was certainly dinner-time, 
if not past, and the party were hungry. 

Knocking at the door of the largest and most 
important-looking building, which was of 
timber, and one story only, it was opened by 
a young man in Servian costume who ushered 
them into the room. It was an enormous room, 
to say the least; in the centre extended a 


144 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

wooden table set for the evening meal, and 
about which were already seated the inhabitants 
of the Community. 

The eldest man, who had the honor to be, at 
the time, the Stareshina or Hausvater, arose 
from his seat and greeted the strangers. 

“ And may we have the honor of receiving 
you as our guests?” he asked, simply. 

Herr Runkel thanked him, and explained 
that they were on a tour of the provinces with 
the lads, and should be most grateful for a 
night’s shelter. Room was made for them at 
the table, and right heartily were they received 
by the Zadruga, or Community family. The 
two boys were lost in admiration of all they 
saw ; and although they were plied with cheeses 
and meats and bread, and even fruits of all 
kinds, yet their hunger seemed to have left 
them in their wonderment. At one end of the 
great room was a brick stove or sort of fire- 
place, the largest either of the lads had ever 


Dalmatia and the Border-lands 145 

seen. To carry off the smoke from the blazing 
logs, was built a huge canopy, round and very 
large at the bottom, tapering to a small cir- 
cumference at the top, and allowing the smoke 
to escape through the open roof at that point. 
Over the fire, but high enough to prevent them 
being burned, were cross-beams from which 
hung huge pieces of beef, bacons, hams and all 
sorts of meat smoking for future use, while the 
cooking was done in huge pots of iron sus- 
pended by chains from the beams. 

The women were dressed in white linen bod- 
ices with long, flowing sleeves; their skirts were 
a combination of two wide aprons, one at the 
front and one at the back, over which was an- 
other smaller apron elaborately embroidered 
in brilliant colors. About their waists were 
scarlet sashes, with a second somewhat higher 
up of the same brilliant hue; red leather high 
boots, filigree silver ornaments or beads about 
their necks, and on their heads a filmy veil with 


146 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

fancy border fastened to the hair with a silver 
pin, and hanging far down over their shoulders 
like a mist. In this most picturesque costume 
they certainly resembled our scarlet flamingo or 
bird-o f-paradise more than anything else one 
could think of. 

The men, too, were splendid in their gay 
costumes; loose trousers like the Turks, with 
top-boots of black leather; scarlet vests em- 
bellished with silver thread and silver buttons, 
and white coats, very long, reaching almost to 
the boots. 

The meal finished, the Stareshina (the pre- 
siding elder of the Zadruga) and his wife, the 
Domatchina (which means homekeeper), arose 
and thus gave the signal for the others to arise. 
Those women whose allotted work it was to 
attend to the clearing of the table, betook them- 
selves to the task. The Domatchina arranges 
all the work to be done by each during the 
week, and turn about is taken, so that there may 


Dalmatia and the JBorder-lands 147 

be no cause for dissatisfaction, while the Stare- 
shina attends to the matters of the farm. Thus 
harmony always prevails ; prosperity reigns 
wherever these Communities are established, 
and happiness is paramount. 

Although there seemed no apparent necessity 
for a fire, fresh logs were added. The men 
brought out their pipes, drew up the benches 
toward the hearth and began conversation. 
Some brought their musical instruments; the 
women sat with their spinning or sewing, while 
the little girls even, were occupied with elabor- 
ate embroideries for their trousseaux later in 
life, which are always begun in childhood. 

There was great unity and happiness in the 
circle. Amid laughter, song and anecdotes the 
evening passed; as the hour advanced the 
Stareshina conducted evening prayers. Good- 
night was said by all, and each family betook 
himself to his own vayat (hut) outside the main 
building or Koutcha, which alone was reserved 


148 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

for the use of the Stareshina and the unmarried 
members of his family. As soon as one of his 
family should marry, he would have a separate 
vayat built for him about the Koutcha. 

The travelers were conducted to the guest- 
house, reserved solely for that purpose, and 
long into the night the children lay and talked 
over the strange customs they had seen, and 
plied their elders with endless questions as to 
the meaning of it all. 

“ Let them be children, Fred,” said Herr 
Runkel. “We brought them on this trip to 
learn,” and he explained to them those things 
they wished so much to know. That the Slavs 
never allow their hearth-fire to die out, no mat- 
ter how hot the season, for as surely as they do, 
all sorts of evils would befall them ; that is one 
of the unswerving superstitions of the nation. 
The fire of their hearth is as a sacred flame to 
them, which must be tended and cared for with 
unremitting zeal, which harks back to the days 


Dalmatia and the Border-lands 149 

of paganism when the fire was looked upon 
as the most sacred thing in their religion, and 
was kept ever burning in their temples and pub- 
lic places ; finally it became the custom for each 
family to have his own hearth or fire, but the 
superstition that should it die out it would bring 
all sorts of maledictions upon the household, 
has remained. No doubt the difficulty of ob- 
taining the fire by means of friction (matches 
of course, being unknown) accounted for the 
careful preservation of the flame. However it 
be, the Slavs still retain the ancient custom. 

He explained to them how the House father 
and the House mother of this great family are 
elected by vote, serving a given number of 
years; sometimes one, sometimes more, as cus- 
tom establishes; but usually the eldest man in 
the Community holds that post of honor, while 
his wife is the House mother. He told the 
lads how the farm is worked by each member 
of the Zadruga under the supervision and in- 


150 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

struction of the Stareshina, each receiving his 
share, according to his labor, at the end of the 
season, the finances being in charge of the House 
father. He told them how many of the young 
men, longing for higher education at the uni- 
versities or in the arts, such as painting, etc., 
were sent by the Zadruga to the city which 
afforded the best advantages for them, the ex- 
penses being borne by the Community funds, 
should there not be sufficient to the young men’s 
credit to pay for it, entirely; this extra sum 
being repaid when the students should be in 
position to do so. 

The children were fascinated with the Com- 
munity, where every one seemed so happy and 
well cared for; and they begged to be allowed 
to remain many days, but Herr Muller re- 
minded them that Frau Muller would be await- 
ing them at Gratz. 

“ But we shall come again, nicht wahr, mein 
Vater?” asked Ferdinand. 


Dalmatia and the Border-lands 151 

“ Yes, we shall come again, and soon 
maybe,” he replied. 

“ And I, too ? ” queried Leopold. 

“ Naturlich” 

Off in the morning, the party journeyed 
through the southeastern portion of Carniola, 
so rich in mountains and minerals. There were 
unusual sights to be seen here, too; huge cav- 
erns were fashioned in the rocks, and grottoes 
of curious formations. They saw the peasant 
women making lace, a product for which the 
province is particularly famed. 

At Marburg, Herr Runkel and Leopold 
Hofer bade farewell to their companions, and 
boarded the train for Innsbruck where Herr 
Hofer would meet his young son; while Herr 
Muller and Ferdinand continued on up into 
Styria to the city of Gratz, where Frau Muller 
awaited them. 

Styria, or Steiermark, is a splendid province 


152 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

of the Austria-Hungarian empire, famous even 
in the time of the Romans, for its production 
of ore, and holding to-day an important place 
in the commercial world for its minerals. 
Gratz, the capital, is a charming city with an 
excellent university, and lies on the River Mur. 
It has been said of it that it is “ La Ville des 
Graces sur la riviere de 1’ Amour ” (the favored 
city on the river of Love) being a play upon 
words, amour (love) being interpreted Mur. 

Of course there was an excursion to the 
Castle-hill, where formerly stood the ancient 
castle; and Herr Muller pointed out to the 
children the spot where Charles II ordered 
twenty thousand books of the Protestant faith 
to be burned in public. 

A few days’ visit and they were once more on 
their way for Vienna, and home. Ferdinand’s 
tongue had never ceased to chatter, there were 
so many interesting details to report to the 
mother; and when Vienna was reached it did 


Dalmatia and the Border-lands 153 

seem as if the child never could settle down to 
life in the City, after his splendid rambles about 
the open country, wandering where he willed. 

“ Father,” he remarked, after some days at 
home, “ we did not go to Moravia. We visited 
all the provinces except that.” 

“ Yes, it is true,” replied his father, “ but, 
you know, we lingered longer than we intended, 
and Teresa is due to arrive shortly. We shall 
have to reserve Moravia for another vacation- 
time. I think you will not find the customs 
there very different, however, from those of 
Bohemia . 1 But I should like to have you see 
Olmutz, the ancient capital of Moravia, where 
our emperor Franz-Joseph was proclaimed 
king.” 


1 Our Little Bohemian Cousin. 


CHAPTER XI 


VIENNA 

With the arrival of Teresa Runkel busy 
days followed; visits to the Prater, which Em- 
peror Joseph II had dedicated to the public for 
a playground and recreation park; to the 
Capuchin Church, where lie the remains of the 
imperial families from the time of Matthias I 
in 1619, and where the ill-starred Duke of 
Reichstadt (L’Aiglon), the only son of Na- 
poleon of France, lies buried among his kins- 
folks, as well as his imperial mother, Marie 
Louise. And, best of all, there was the excur- 

1 

sion to the Castle of Laxenburg just outside 
Vienna, one of the imperial chateaux, standing 
in the midst of a miniature island, which is 
reached by a tiny ferry boat, quite as though it 


Vienna 


155 

were some ancient feudal castle with its moat, 
minus the drawbridge and portcullis. 

Here they were frightened nearly out of their 
senses while inspecting the dungeons, at hear- 
ing an automaton chained to the wall shake 
its cumbersome fetters as if he were some 
prisoner living out his days in the hopelessness 
of the dungeon. But Herr Muller quieted the 
alarms of the young girl by explaining the pleas- 
antry of the custodian, who gives his visitors 
thrills, which is what they really come for, as 
he says. 

“ I wish you could be here for the ice-carnival, 
Teresa,” said Ferdinand, after one busy day’s 
sight-seeing. “ It’s wonderful, with the lake 
all lit up by electric lights and lanterns, and 
tiny booths dotted here and there, and skaters 
in their furs and gay gowns. Can’t you manage 
to come at Christmas time?” 

“ I should love to,” she replied. u I’ll write 
and ask brother Franz if I may.” 


156 Our Little Austrian Cousin 

“ And maybe mother will let us go to one 
of the masked balls,” the lad said, half hesita- 
tingly, for he knew this would, indeed, be a 
privilege. 

“Scarcely yet, Ferdinand; children do not 
attend balls; but there are countless other fes- 
tivities for children, which would delight 
Teresa much more than a masked ball at which 
she could but look on. It is far better to be a 
participant, isn’t it, my dear?” 

“ Oh, much,” answered the child, politely. 
Nevertheless, she did wish she might see the 
ball. 

A few days later Ferdinand and his mother 
drove the Austrian girl to the railroad sta- 
tion, where she was met by the Sister who 
would conduct her and others to the Con- 
vent. 

At the conductor’s call “ Einsteigen ! ” the 
doors of the train were fastened, and Ferdinand 
waved farewell to his little friend, through 


Vienna 157 

whose childish head flashed visions of a merry 
Yule-tide to come, passed in the home of her 
friends, with dances and parties, and skating 
and endless merriment. 


























V 




* 











/ 









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A— 8 



JUL 5 1913 




